


The Impasse

by Sheila_Snow



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Boys in Chains, Dubious Consent, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-24
Updated: 2003-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheila_Snow/pseuds/Sheila_Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are sent to help mediate a dispute on a remote planet, but things go wrong when Obi-Wan decides to take matters in his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impasse

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned: There is some mild bondage and the sex is somewhat non-consensual. (I know, I know, it's sort of like saying "somewhat dead," but you'll see when you get there.) While this is in essence a Q/O story, it does have Q/O/M content.
> 
> This is also a thinly disguised PWP with _very_ explicit sexual content. If you're looking for a lot of plot, you might want to give this one a miss!

Sweet and low, sweet and low,  
Wind of the western sea,  
Low, low, breathe and blow,  
Wind of the western sea!  
Over the rolling waters go,  
Come from the dying moon, and blow,  
Blow him again to me;  
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Tennyson

  


 

 

 

_Rebellious, hot-headed, **impudent** little upstart!_ Qui-Gon Jinn bit back a few more succinct words and decided to merely sit and fume quietly at the utter recklessness of his young apprentice. _Self-reliance and confidence in his abilities I wanted him to have, but this..._

He abruptly rose and restlessly paced the small antechamber's marble-inlaid floor, realizing belatedly that sitting still and fuming weren't going to suffice after all, hadn't sufficed in quite some time. In fact, right now he felt that nothing less than taking his apprentice's pale throat in his hands and squeezing some sense into him were the only actions that would. Oh, he could manage his feelings well enough while in the midst of negotiations, the absolute necessity for reaching an accord allowing him to put aside his anger and despair, but during these periods of forced idleness...

His eyes filled unaccountably and he angrily closed them for a brief moment, flinging his head violently to one side as he struggled unsuccessfully to bring his rapidly shifting emotions under control. He swallowed convulsively. _Force allow that I ever get that opportunity at all,_ he thought despairedly.

He stopped as his pacing brought him in front of a large, decorative glass window that graced one wall of the small chamber, resting his head against one of the sturdy curved panes and trying to disperse some of his worry and anger into the Force, much as the cool, smooth glass dissipated the heat from his anxious pacing.

He lifted his head slowly. Well, it hadn't worked especially well the last time he attempted it either.

He resumed his stalking, aware he looked vaguely dangerous but unwilling or unable to resume the mask of the calm, stoic Jedi Master. He feared this situation was already beyond his ability to mediate anyway, and at least the movement made him feel marginally better, the smooth, steady strides of his long legs venting some of his frustration at least into movement, if not action -- the action his whole being cried out for him to make, the action his protective instincts honed by years of association with the boy _demanded_ he take.

He shook his head again and exhaled explosively. The same action he could not risk unless he intended to ignite a whole world into fire and bloodshed.

_Damn the boy to all the Sith hells! How **dare** he risk his life like this!_

His internal struggle and preoccupation nearly caused him to collide with a young Cerlonese diplomat attempting to get his attention before his eyes focussed outward and he became fully aware again. The young man stepped backwards to avoid the big Jedi's path, stopping when Qui-Gon did, but he inhaled a deep steadying breath when the almost predator-like gaze of the Jedi Master centered firmly on him. The young diplomat bowed deeply, breaking the searing eye contact hurriedly, and stepped backwards again, bumping hard into a pedestal behind him.

Qui-Gon used Force to steady the delicate sculpture threatened by imminent destruction from the tottering pedestal and made a conscious effort to calm his demeanor enough to allow speech to the young man. Frightening ten cycles off a lowly diplomat's life was not going to accomplish anything, and in any case the relative youth of this boy meant he couldn't be more than a Fifth or Sixth in the hierarchy. He closed his eyes and made another less-than-perfect effort to center himself.

He opened his eyes again after he felt he had achieved some level of calm and said merely, "Yes?"

The young diplomat had yet to raise his eyes up off the floor, and at the sound of Qui-Gon's voice he started minutely but made a masterful attempt to control his reaction.

Obviously, the stress of keeping the repressed violence at bay must still be manifesting in his voice. Pity that, but sometime over the last tenday he had ceased to find the outmoded sensibilities and somewhat brutal customs of these people quaint and pitiable. Now he found them merely contemptible, and as far as Obi-Wan...

"Yes?" he rasped again, at the ragged end of his erstwhile impressive patience.

"If it would please the exalted Mediator...?"

"What would please the exalted Mediator would be to have his apprentice back," he snapped in frustration, forcing again blistering eye contact with the diplomat, centering his whole imposing personality on this...visible, accessible obstruction to getting his Padawan back.

The young man returned his gaze with obvious distress, but he did not back down from Qui-Gon's anger nor make a hurried or ill-considered reply in kind. In spite of himself, Qui-Gon found himself quietly impressed by the young man's poise. With his people's lack of previous contact with the Republic, the boy was undoubtedly wary of what to expect from an infuriated Jedi Master, but he evidently had the strength of character to follow through with his assignment nonetheless. He also looked vaguely familiar to Qui-Gon, and he wondered briefly where he had encountered the young man before. He shook his head to clear it and did not pursue that train of thought further. This mission had been a maelstrom from the start, with its confusing and time-consuming strata of protocol and restrictions, and he had managed to see very little of this world, or even his own apprentice, before...

Qui-Gon sighed, rubbed his weary eyes, and replied more calmly, "I apologize for my rudeness. I assume you are here to take me to the First Arbiter?"

The diplomat merely nodded his head a fraction and watched his face warily.

"Then lead. I will follow."

The young man bowed his dark blonde head again in obvious relief and strode purposefully to the door, anxious, no doubt, to leave before Qui-Gon should change his mind.

As they walked down the long empty corridor, Qui-Gon watched the earnest young man in front of him attempting with some success to lengthen the strides of his much shorter legs to match the need for haste that obviously still radiated from Qui-Gon's body. The thick plaited braid of the diplomat's longish hair thwacked against his shoulder blades with his altered, accelerated gait.

As they reached the portal to the outside, the young man tossed his head to bring the long braid within reach, tucking it behind his right ear and attaching the end with a heavy, decorative clip to his tunic.

Qui-Gon stopped short in shock when he belatedly realized just why his current displaced anger had manifested itself, and bowed deeply to the young man, who looked at him with some confusion. The wide eyes and the need for approval, moreso than his physical appearance, Qui-Gon decided, reminded him more vividly of Obi-Wan. _It is hardly this particular young man's fault that he should happen upon me just as I felt the need to beat some sense into my own apprentice's head,_ he thought bemusedly.

"I apologize again for my rudeness," Qui-Gon said aloud and bowed again to the young man. "I find I am somewhat...distracted by the plight of my apprentice," he finished.

The young diplomat's features softened somewhat in relief, and no little compassion, and he replied kindly, "There is naught to forgive, exalted Mediator. I am honored to serve."

The young man's eyes darted away and he chewed on his lower lip nervously, another mannerism that reminded Qui-Gon painfully of his absent Padawan. Qui-Gon watched in growing apprehension as the young man obviously struggled with a difficult decision. It had been Qui-Gon's long, painful experience that a diplomat in conspicuous distress could bode no good, especially since their very livelihood relied upon at least an outward projection of composure. The young Cerlonese met Qui-Gon's eyes at long last, and then he bowed his head and said formally, softly, but no less kindly, "I grieve with you in your Impasse."

Qui-Gon inhaled sharply, his heart beating frantically in his chest. _Was it so serious then? Was there no hope?_ Dazed at all the implications of that one unadorned statement, Qui-Gon could merely repeat the ritualistic reply, "The Impasse shall be its own remedy." He locked eyes with the young man standing so dejectedly before him. "But you will forgive me, I hope, if I strive to make it otherwise?"

"More than forgive, exalted Mediator, believe that I shall do all in my power to help." The young diplomat straightened to his full height and proclaimed defiantly, "I am called 'Drah'Nor.'" With that, leaving a stunned and mute Qui-Gon in his wake, he strode out the door and into the beckoning soft spring sunshine.

 

* * *

Qui-Gon, belatedly, keyed open the door and followed behind the young diplomat...no, Drah'Nor. After spending so long on this world, it was difficult to regain the habit again of referring to an individual by name. As he ducked his head slightly to pass under a stone arch not designed to accommodate someone of his height, he attempted to digest the intriguing implications of Drah'Nor's release to him of his use-name. Such a thing was normally considered only amidst close family ties and to those bound by marriage. He was, of course, neither to Drah'Nor. A message of some kind? Was the boy attempting then merely to secure Qui-Gon's notice? -- if so, he had succeeded admirably. And the ritualistic condolences...possibly...a warning? If this were indeed the case, it implied a depth to this young man that required further consideration, since he had in two simple sentences defied the two basic tenants which his people held most dear.

As they passed beyond the protection of the guest wing on the outskirts of the huge diplomatic complex, they came temporarily into the full brunt of the West Wind, the ceaseless wind that blew across the island continent for most of this turbulent planet's year. While warm from its journey across a broad expanse of temperate sea, and not quite gale force, it was still enough to make Qui-Gon stagger as he fought his mutinous hair's sudden desire to break from its bindings and swirl madly around his face.

He cursed inwardly to himself, and then staggered from more than the tumultuous wind as he fought back a hollow pang of painful remembrance. It had been one of the few happy moments they'd had since landing on this tiny backwater planet, and it had been their first encounter with this cursed wind. Obi-Wan had easily grabbed hold of his thin braid to keep it from whipping about and had laughed out loud at his Master's futile attempts to tame his unruly mane.

"Perhaps you should change your hairstyle, Master," he had said with his devilish half-smile as he swirled the tip of his Padawan braid in his Master's direction.

"And perhaps my Padawan should learn some manners," he had replied, and Force-swatted Obi-Wan's backside hard enough to cause him to yelp and lose his grip on his braid.

The wind had whipped the escaped braid back hard enough across Obi-Wan's cheek to elicit another yelp from his wayward apprentice, along with a glare in the direction of his chuckling Master. After that, Obi-Wan had adopted the local practice of the decorative braid-clips whenever he ventured outside. They had likewise both quickly discarded their loose outer garments or else run the risk of causing some injury to themselves, or at least suffer from the extreme lack of dignity resulting from limbs entangled in voluminous robes by the ever present, wretched wind.

He supposed he could have taken Obi-Wan's braid-clip before he left their chambers; the clip had sat forlorn and unused since his apprentice's rash actions these many days past. But, somehow, the concept of appropriating something that belonged to Obi-Wan for his own use implied that he was accepting the fact his apprentice would not be returning.

And that was a thought he chose not to dwell on for _any_ length of time.

As he followed in the wake of Drah'Nor, he attempted to prepare himself for the upcoming meeting by re-suffusing himself in the now. The path between the guest quarters and the Arbiter House was a short one, although as in everything involved in this culture, _nothing_ was done in straight lines. The people of Cerlon II were by nature a practical sort, in Qui-Gon's mind taking practicality to extremes, but their Planners took into account the inevitability of the constant wind and arranged their settlements and cities accordingly. Straight lines and walls were a challenge to the wind, they offered obstruction and resistance, whereas the graceful curves of all their buildings and structures allowed the West Wind's fury to go where it pleased yet eventually die out amidst the intricately tangled maze of benign arcs and curves. On any other world the squat buildings would have been considered unsightly, but to give them credit, these people had combined utility and necessity into an eye-catching array of soothing colors and graceful shapes, where archways and columns seemed to draw the eyes deeper into its twisting complexity without offering overt obstruction to the imperious wind.

Passive resistance was an art form to these people, not ordinarily detrimental, but it _was_ when it appeared to be causing him the life of his most cherished apprentice.

As they neared the center of the complex, the wind had been tamed to a more manageable level, but it still intermittently snarled and twisted like a wild animal brought helplessly to bay. Random whorls of multicolored prismatic dust, spent leaves and contorted twigs spun in mad concentric circles only to sink back down to the ground in defeat with a sudden deflection of the air patterns caused by their passing.

He had actually thought this world beautiful when they'd first arrived, with its twisted low-slung trees contorted forever in the wake of the West Wind, each one bent and angled away from the wind's invariably molding presence. He had admired also the gnarled, stiff vegetation and the seemingly dainty flowers that survived the near constant gale through flexible stems and the tiniest of multi-colored petals that hugged the ground in their quests to survive.

But now...now the constant chiming of the impossibly sturdy yet intricately carved wind chimes seemed more of an alarm than the balm it had once been, and those same twisted trees appeared to be obstinately pointing away from the direction he needed to go, pointing away from his imperiled Obi-Wan, mutely persuading him to abandon his task and to bow to the inevitable as the rest of this blighted world did.

He had never been one to believe in the power of inevitability, and his features tightened with the firm conviction that _this_ world was not about to change that.

 

* * *

They arrived finally at the main negotiation chambers of Arbiter House, and Qui-Gon again fought down a sense of unease, particularly given this, the most formal of the meeting venues as the First Arbiter's choice for their discussion. Given this culture's sense of propriety and symbolism, it did nothing to soothe Qui-Gon's fears.

The First Arbiter's greeting sealed that sense of unease. "I greet you, exalted Mediator, and wish you stillness and calm." The thin, aesthetic man bowed deeply in ritualistic obeisance to the bending of wills, finally rising again to meet the burning eyes of the Republic's representative. When no reply from Qui-Gon was forthcoming, he continued to his assistant without breaking eye contact, "Thank you, Sixth, you may leave us now."

There was a blatantly obvious hesitation on Drah'Nor's part, and the First Arbiter repeated more firmly, "You may leave us, Sixth."

"But, First, I believe..."

"You of all amongst us know you should have no part in this! You will leave." The First Arbiter's eyes locked finally onto his subordinate's and the young man stiffened, but finally bowed briefly and left the room, closing the massively ornate door behind him with a hollow clang that echoed like a death knell in the cavernous room.

The First Arbiter smiled tightly at Qui-Gon and waved him further into the immense hall, following the curve of the outside wall until they reached the formal meeting table at the opposite arc of the spherical structure.

There was no one else in the chamber. This one solitary fact disturbed Qui-Gon like no other.

"I had assumed we were meeting to further discuss the Contention. Where are the Proponent and Refuter?" Qui-Gon asked with deceptive calm, waving a graceful arm to indicate the empty room. "I would think that at least the two individuals responsible for this crisis would be in attendance."

The First Arbiter turned slowly from his absorbed attention with the scattered debris soaring past the huge, elaborately decorated plastisteel window and raised a mute eyebrow in reply to Qui-Gon's question. "I had thought it best that we hold this meeting in private. There is yet time to discuss the Contention, exalted Mediator."

The Arbiter looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if bearing news which he was reluctant to impart, or possibly it was merely the strain of arbitrating a Contention which held such a potential for destruction should he fail. The issue at hand involved the two largest, and most powerful, provinces on his planet and the situation had been escalating inexorably to a potentially devastating global involvement. In this, at least, Qui-Gon could sympathize with the stress this knowledge entailed. He had himself been in that position, far too many times to count as the Jedi's most sought after mediator -- was, in fact, sharing that position with _this_ world. Only, this time, he had a _far_ more personal stake in the consequences should he fail.

Qui-Gon extended his senses to his utmost, striving in muted desperation to determine the motivation behind the First Arbiter's words. Again, without much success. While the Cerlonese were not entirely Force-blind, they were exceedingly hard to read, especially those with extremely well-ordered minds such as the First Arbiter. Still, he sensed something was...not right and there _was_ that oblique warning, if it were such, from Drah'Nor.

A sudden, fleeting impression sprang into Qui-Gon's mind as certain actions of the First Arbiter coalesced into meaning. "Ah, I believe I see." Qui-Gon paused significantly, "And, am I still?"

Faint puzzlement from the man across from him. "Still what?" he inquired, with a quizzical tilt to his dark head.

"Am I still 'exalted Mediator'?" Qui-Gon replied firmly. At the quickly muted start from the First Arbiter, Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and continued, "For if I were not still Mediator, you would be under no obligation to allow me to take part in the negotiations, or even to keep me advised of how those negotiations were progressing." His voice lowered dangerously, "Am I correct in my summation, First Arbiter?"

The Cerlonese's pinched face became even tighter in his obvious anger. "It was a mistake to bring the Jedi to our world in the first place!" he hissed. "Your apprentice could very easily cause a war the likes of which we have not suffered in generations if he should disregard our customs and refuse the remedy of Impasse!"

"Obi...my apprentice may be young and not of your world, but he would never seek to avoid the consequences of his actions," Qui-Gon replied in weary resignation.

"Your apprentice is reckless," the First Arbiter countered hotly as he paced restlessly amidst the multicolored bands of filtered sunlight, "and takes far too much upon himself in disregard of his Elders."

_I forbid you to move, Padawan!_

Since at the moment Qui-Gon was in anguished, wholehearted agreement with that particular statement, he had no immediate reply. He took a deep breath and asked painfully, "And my earlier question?"

The First Arbiter stopped pacing and studied Qui-Gon closely, no doubt seeing the haggard face, drawn, sleepless eyes and the myriad of other visible changes brought about by Obi-Wan's current predicament. The First Arbiter turned away abruptly, rubbing his eyes and visibly attempting to regain control of his own temper.

There was a long silence. "Ambassador..." the First Arbiter began.

Qui-Gon drew a long hissing breath inward. The change in his title-name was more than sufficient information, but he had to know, had to. "My apprentice?" he rasped.

The First Arbiter turned at last to face him fully and straightened his care-worn shoulders. "Ambassador, I have asked you here to formally absolve you of the responsibilities of Mediator." He must have seen the dawning fury in Qui-Gon's stiffening features for he continued firmly, "You must know that you are no longer fit to Mediate this Contention. Your very response to your apprentice's actions..."

"....has become almost instinctive in me after five years of his Apprenticeship!" Qui-Gon glared at the man standing across from him, the man standing between him and his Obi-Wan. "You could not expect me to stand idly by while the one I have sworn to protect put himself in that sort of jeopardy."

"What I _expect_ has nothing to do with this!" The First Arbiter stepped closer into Qui-Gon's personal space, and though tall for his race, he was still forced to crane his neck backwards to meet Qui-Gon's eyes. He did not let Qui-Gon's size, or Force skills, or the precariously tight hold the big Jedi had on his emotions deter him as he continued purposefully, "What I _know_ is that your apprentice made the Offer, it was accepted by both sides, and _if you interfere, you will most assuredly escalate a conflict which is already on the brink of exploding into something I do not even wish to contemplate!_ The First Arbiter was breathing heavily, obviously angry, but at such close range, Qui-Gon detected also the sincerity and desperation in his strained voice and manner.

Qui-Gon broke the eye contact first, in misery, "This I know also, First Arbiter." Another pause. "And my apprentice?" he asked yet again.

The Arbiter closed his eyes, seemingly in conflict with himself, or with how much he should say. His words were almost too quiet to hear, once he finally spoke. "Ambassador, know that I am not a cruel man, but by necessity I must sometimes be a harsh one, I fear." He moved to stand once more by the mammoth window, suddenly unable to meet the Jedi's anguished gaze, staring out into a sky that had darkened suddenly with one of the many spring storms that tumbled off the turbulent sea. "You must understand that this system we have developed has served us well for countless generations. Over those generations, we have but rarely needed to resort to the...penultimate of its process, but even when we have, we are all aware that its alternative would be...far more costly."

He turned to face Qui-Gon again, his face this time shrouded by the darkening clouds gathering outside. "This is a harsh and difficult world in which my people have chosen to live, and sometimes it forces us to take as much as it gives." He paused again. "I am sorry, Ambassador." He bowed his head and added, very softly, "I grieve with you in your Impasse."

 

* * *

"This had better be good, Qui-Gon. For once, I wish you could find it in yourself to contact me when I _hadn't_ just managed to fall asleep." Mace Windu stretched and tried to coax some coherence into lethargic, sleep-deranged brain cells.

"I need you here, Mace," was Qui-Gon's only reply. His voice sounded...strained somehow. Then it sank in. _Here?_ The Council had just recently sent Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to...

"_Here_? You mean Cerlon?! That Sith-forsaken planet clear across the galaxy in what I'm sure is the armpit of the Universe? That _here_?"

There was only a barely whispered, "Yes."

Mace cursed bitterly and in as many languages as he could remember, until his mind blearily focussed on the fact that his caller was using audio only and he froze abruptly in mid-curse. The last time he had gotten a communication from Qui-Gon with no visual was when Xanatos...

_Whatever it is, it must be bad, **really** bad._ "Qui, what is it? What's the matter?"

"Mace, I need...it's Obi-Wan..." Battered, broken voice.

_Oh, Force._

"Qui-Gon Jinn, put me on visual, _now please,_" and he inflected his best Council member's authority into the demand. _Not that it had ever helped with this particular Jedi Master before, but..._

He was thus both pleasantly, and as it turned out, _unpleasantly_ surprised when Qui-Gon complied.

Mace tried to remember when the last time he had seen Qui-Gon Jinn looking so drained...or so lost, and he determined with a shudder that he didn't really _want_ to remember. Qui-Gon's attention appeared to drift as if he were listening for something, and Mace had to snap a brusque "Qui-Gon!" to get his attention back to the holoprojector. "What about Obi-Wan, is he injured? Is he..." Mace didn't even want to follow _that_ thought, knowing how Qui-Gon doted on his apprentice, not to mention how fond Mace was of the engaging young man himself.

Qui-Gon shook his head, seemingly unable to expend the energy to reply. "Just come, Mace, please. And...hurry."

"But..."

"You're about to become the next exalted Mediator to Cerlon II."

 

* * *

The lithe, blond-haired young man and a rather subdued child struggled against the steep grade of the grassy hillside as they neared the top of the cliff-side summit. As they reached the top of the lonely, desolate hill, they both lowered their stance instinctively to avoid being swept away by the unchecked West Wind soaring off the ocean far below. They both knelt down to lie on their stomachs and let the near gale force wind tear at their clothes while they stared pensively at the savagely churning sea.

They could hear little over the crashing surf and keening wind, just the far-off hunting cry of a streamlined jharong as it circled endlessly on the rampant gale in pursuit of sustenance.

Here was the point where flailing wind and thrashing water met most harshly against a defiant land mass. It was nearly deafening, it was volatile, it was dangerous...and it was the most peaceful place that Drah'Nor knew.

He came here when he was most troubled, most disturbed, because the wildness of the elements seemed to make the petty problems of mere humans seem...insignificant. But not today. No, not today.

"Wind take it!" he muttered venomously.

The little girl turned her liquid brown eyes to his face. "Mama told us never to swear," she said solemnly, attuned nonetheless to his mood.

He closed his eyes and let some of the anger and frustration drain from his features before he turned to face his tiny tormentor. He smiled lopsidedly at her and said simply, "So she did, Sprite, so she did."

The young child nodded her head slightly in a perfect, unconscious imitation of their mother regally accepting an apology, and in spite of himself, Drah'Nor laughed. He reached out a hand to tuck a dancing, stray lock of hair away from her beatific face and stroked her cheek fondly.

She cocked her head at him when he removed his hand, then looked down to worry at a moss-covered stone in front of her, seemingly entranced by its shape and texture.

"What is it, Sprite?" Drah'Nor asked, knowing the answer but knowing also that she needed to speak of it herself.

She looked long and hard into his eyes before she finally asked, "Do you love him?"

Shocked speechless by this unexpected question, he reared up on his elbows and was nearly tumbled back down the hill by an overly exuberant gust of wind. Catching himself quickly, he elbowed himself back up the few meters he had rolled and used the time to gather his scattered dignity and equally scattered wits.

She was still waiting for him, still waiting for his reply in her patient, serene manner that totally belied someone of her tender years.

Impossible to be less than honest to that beguiling stare. "I don't know, Sprite. I think I could, very easily...if we only had the time." He finished the last with difficulty, swallowing once or twice in an effort to control himself.

Now it came, finally, the question he had thought she would ask before. "Will he die?" The lilting voice was softer now, less sure of itself, and he was not sure if it was the pain in that voice or the question itself that tore at him more.

"I don't know, Sprite," he repeated tonelessly, eyes casting back over the bleak, unforgiving sea. "I just don't know."

 

* * *

That fact that Qui-Gon Jinn was standing alone on the landing pad to greet him was enough to put Mace's already tumultuous motions into yet another tailspin. He had gotten so accustomed to seeing Qui-Gon with his ever present, much smaller "shadow" that he looked almost incomplete without the young apprentice by his side.

As he descended the ramp, he realized also that it wasn't merely the exhaust from the transport's repulsor jets that was forcing Qui-Gon to keep a strangle-hold on his hair, for as he stepped off the ramp he was nearly swept away by a steady, shearing wind. He didn't have much time to get accustomed to it either, because Qui-Gon grabbed hold of his upper arm and practically dragged him away from the din of the still shrieking sublight engines of the transport and towards the dubious shelter of an outcropping of the oddest collection of buildings Mace had ever seen. He found it difficult to walk with any semblance of dignity while being pulled in one direction by a _very_ distressed Jedi Master, while at the same time having his feet constantly entangled in robes he found to be, in a word, _highly_ unsuited to this planet's wind-tossed weather.

Mace sighed. _That'll teach me to skip over the "Climate and Temperature" section when reading the mission brief. It's been **way** too long since I've been a field operative._

As they started along a narrow, winding stone path that eeled its way between buildings whose walls curved and undulated like waves at a seashore, Mace attempted to get enough of his breath back to ask a question. "Qui-Gon," he finally managed, "do you mind telling me what in all the nine Sith hells is going on here?"

"Abrupt and to the point as always, Mace."

"Well, when you've been knocked out of a sound sleep, sent countless light-years in a drafty, vermin-infested transport to the backside of nowhere, _and you don't know why,_ then maybe you'll come out sounding like the Voice of Reasoned Inquiry, too."

"Drafty?"

"Stop evading me, Qui. Out with it."

A deep sigh came from the man still urgently pulling Mace along like so much superfluous baggage. "I'm not sure where to start."

"Well, I assume it won't be from the beginning since we appear to be in at least some degree of hurry here."

A brief smile appeared on Qui-Gon's haggard face, and he said softly, "You were always good for me, Mace."

"Obviously not good enough." Mace smiled back in fond remembrance, then continued briskly, "Speaking of what's good for you, just what exactly _has_ happened to Obi-Wan?"

Mace shook his head in amazement at the look of puzzlement on Qui-Gon's face, who was quite obviously not making the connection. _He still wasn't consciously aware of it, then? Love may not be blind, but it sure looks like it could hit Qui-Gon over the head with a gimer stick and get away with it._

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, but asked merely, "You've read the mission brief?"

"_Most_ of it, yes," Mace answered wryly, grabbing hold of a wayward flap of wind-tossed robe. He sighed again. "At least I don't have hair to worry about anymore."

Qui-Gon smiled all too briefly again, but then his voice lost all of its previous half-teasing tone. "Then you're aware of the details of the Contention we were sent here to mediate."

Mace caught glimpses of what appeared to be their destination amidst the twists and turns of the winding, tree-lined walk. It was easily the largest in this overlarge complex, a quasi-oblong building which appeared to be spherical at one end and vaguely convex on the other. He used the time examining the structure to consider his reply. "Yessss." He ducked his head quickly to avoid a wayward, wind-tossed branch from a particularly aggressive, low-slung tree. "The Jedi were contacted by the Thallon province because they felt the issues too difficult to resolve and feared it might end in Impasse." Mace caught the barely controlled flinch from Qui-Gon and narrowed his eyes. "Something, I believe, that has not actually happened for three or four hundred standard years."

"It is happening now."

_Grief, despair, utter, abject self-hatred._

Mace blinked. He had not realized they still shared an open mind-link, but then, stress...

"Qui-Gon..."

Qui-Gon's voice was almost mechanical now, as if he had to bury all emotion to be able to speak. "The Impasse, as always, is chosen when it appears that no headway is being made in the negotiations." He smiled wryly, "I assume it is done to allow the Proponent and Refuter a chance to refocus, seeing as they now would have more reason than ever to reach settlement." His face darkened angrily. "If I had done better in my role as Mediator, it would never have come to this," he said bitterly.

Mace stopped suddenly and pulled Qui-Gon around to face him. He snarled practically in his face, "Damn it, Qui, it was _you_ who always reminded _me_ that it was impossible to succeed in every mission. 'People die, Mace, try as hard as we can, sometimes we simply _cannot_ change that fact.' What is so different _this_ time?"

"Because _this_ time..." He looked away, over Mace's head, into the distance, into the future, Mace was not sure which, but he was sure of one thing: Qui-Gon could handle galaxy-shattering crises like most people handled getting dressed in the morning, and to see him at such a loss...

Mace was about to say something, anything to try to help his friend in his distress but was interrupted by the booming intonation of what sounded like some sort of mammoth gong. It was difficult to tell where the sound originated from -- the wind carried it around and through and above the low-slung buildings, and yet it seemed also to resonate somehow in the ground, a vibration not unlike a gentle groundquake. Gentle maybe, but it galvanized a stricken Qui-Gon into instant, almost frenzied motion.

"Come, Mace, we have...he has...run out of time."

As Qui-Gon started pulling him again towards the large building in the center of this urban maze, Mace in frustration blurted, "Blast it, Qui, would you _please_ tell me what's happened to Obi-Wan?"

"It is actually very simple, Mace. _Obi-Wan_ is the Thallon's Impasse, and _that_ sound was the Tone of Discord. It means, my friend, that the negotiations have failed, and that Obi-Wan is about to die."

 

* * *

They were actually already in the disturbingly non-linear interior halls of what Mace belatedly recognized from the mission brief as Arbiter House before he could find his voice again. "Qui-Gon, that's not possible. The Impasse _must_ be a close family member of either the Proponent or Refuter, or else the whole purpose behind the Impasse is moot."

"Evidently not," came the strained reply from his companion. "As long as the Impasse is approved by both sides of the Contention, a familial relationship is not required." Qui-Gon used a gentle Force push to warn away the approaching Guards, obviously not prepared to waste precious time on matters of mere protocol. "I have had that fact _very_ thoroughly explained to me."

"But, Qui-Gon, it makes no sense!" Mace struggled to keep up with the slightly longer legs of the determined Jedi Master, whose eyes were burning with an interior fire that Mace hoped, fervently, would not break through to the outside. "The Impasse is executed only upon failure of negotiations -- their whole purpose is to give the negotiators an incentive to reach an Agreement, and...to ensure Edict should that fail. If Obi-Wan is not close kin, or have some other similar importance to either side, what purpose would it give to allow him in such a role?"

"It was the Thallon province that requested the Jedi's assistance, and their desire to develop ongoing relations with the Republic. They know that publicly executing a Republic citizen, and a Jedi at that, would be...disastrous for their plans." Qui-Gon continued bitterly, "No doubt the Eirolase are aware of that as well."

They were nearing the door to what Mace presumed to be the main mediation chamber, and Mace grabbed Qui-Gon by the shoulder to ask him the most important question before he could barge through. "But, how, Qui-Gon? How did Obi-Wan end up the Thallon's Impasse in the first place? It is not a position that can be forced on any individual, this I know for fact!"

"Oh, it was most decidedly _not_ forced, Mace. It was Obi-Wan's choice..."

Qui-Gon's hawk-like gaze held Mace's for a brief moment that nonetheless seemed an eternity and Mace was shocked to see, and feel through the remnants of their much earlier bond, that _anger_ had at least temporarily displaced the fear and distress in Qui-Gon's turbulent emotions.

"...and the insubordinate, insolent child _disobeyed_ me to make it."

 

* * *

The mediation chamber was in marked contrast to the last time Qui-Gon had visited this room. Now, instead of echoing silences, the immense room was packed with the citizens of both provinces, here to witness either Agreement or Edict. Given the previous sounding of the Tone of Discord, that decision had undoubtedly already been made, but Qui-Gon was determined that he would succeed in this. He _refused_ to let Obi-Wan die because of his own shortcomings -- his failure once to adequately Mediate the Contention, and his failure twice over for improperly training his brash apprentice in the Tenants of Obedience.

_I forbid you to move, Padawan!_

_I'm sorry, Master. I must._

He shook his head to clear it and strode unimpeded into the massive chamber, Mace close behind him. So close, in fact, that Mace nearly bumped into him when Qui-Gon stopped cold before reaching his intended goal of the conference table.

"Obi-Wan..." he murmured, and Mace edged around the broad shoulders of his oldest friend in an effort to see what had caused Qui-Gon to stop so suddenly.

It was a heartbreaking tableau that manifested itself to them, and even prepared for it, Qui-Gon had to settle his own roiling gut before he could continue. It was merely a hologram, though life-sized, and Qui-Gon knew in his heart that Obi-Wan was actually secreted far across the ocean somewhere amidst the Eirolasian Islands. Yet, still knowing this, Qui-Gon could not keep from taking a few helpless steps toward him none the same.

Obi-Wan was ritually bound, kneeling between two alabaster pillars, bare to the waist, with his head lolling disturbingly forward. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, Qui-Gon knew he was too late, _too late,_ and his hands clenched helplessly at his sides in his raw agony and despair. Mace gripped his arm...in comfort, in warning, he didn't know and didn't care, but then his desperately searching eyes saw that Obi-Wan, _his Obi-Wan!_ was shivering in the slanting, wind-driven rain of an early spring squall. He tried again, as he had tried countless times since his apprentice had given himself as Impasse, to reach Obi-Wan's mind...but whether it was the distance involved in reaching as far as the northern islands or merely that Obi-Wan was drugged, he could not reach the boy.

"He has not been harmed, I can assure you of that."

Qui-Gon started at the First Arbiter's words and wondered, not for the first time, if there were those among the Cerlonese who had at least some measure of Force ability. It also demonstrated his measure of distraction that he had not even sensed the First Arbiter's approach.

"The Impasse is allowed to remain conscious and aware. It is their right, as the decision was theirs to make," the Arbiter reminded him and pointed with a small jerk of his chin to the young woman kneeling in almost an identical pose to Obi-Wan behind the nearly deserted conference table. She was clothed in a pale yellow shift, looked to be not much older than Obi-Wan's 19 years, and Qui-Gon felt a momentary chagrin that he had managed, with his concern for Obi-Wan's plight, to forget that there was _another_ Impasse, one who was doomed to suffer the same fate as his apprentice.

His eyes returned almost as if forcibly drawn to the hologram of his Obi-Wan, who was now shuddering abjectly in the merciless cold northern rain. Qui-Gon's hand twitched in an almost instinctive response to aid his apprentice, longing to stop the shivering by wrapping himself around his gentle, compassionate, yet infuriatingly obstinate Padawan.

Qui-Gon suddenly rounded on the First Arbiter, such that the heretofore unflappable Arbiter moved back a step in response. "I move to reopen the Contention." His deep voice filled the immense hall with no need for artificial amplification, and a rolling murmur followed his not totally unexpected pronouncement.

"You...you cannot. We have been through this, Ambassador," he said, not unkindly, laying a sympathetic hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "From the moment your apprentice stepped forward to Offer himself as Impasse, he accepted the risks of this possible outcome." He continued more firmly, shaking his head, "Besides, you have clearly demonstrated to all that you cannot remain unbiased in this situation. The decision has been witnessed and the Tone sounded." He paused again, searching even in his own distress to offer some degree of comfort. "His death will not be without meaning, Ambassador. He _is_ averting a war."

The First Arbiter gave him another regretful look and then raised his voice to be heard by all. "The Impasse shall be its own remedy!" The waiting crowd solemnly repeated the ritual words, and as the echoes of several hundred voices died around the immense chamber, the Arbiter continued more softly, "And may the blood of their passing seal the Edict, thus preventing the shedding of even more innocent blood."

There came a soft, ardent keening from the watching crowd as the First Arbiter motioned to the Proponent, a solemn, white-haired man of late middle years who slowly, so slowly, approached the Eirolasian province's Impasse, a wickedly curved knife clutched in both hands so hard that his knuckles gleamed white against the obsidian blade. His eyes were filled with tears that flowed unashamedly down his face as he gently placed the ceremonial knife to the unadorned throat of the young woman kneeling there.

Qui-Gon's eyes darted to the conference table and the surreally floating image of Obi-Wan. He clenched his fists in helpless despair as he watched an eerily matching scene, an equally wicked-looking knife held loosely in the hands of a short, regal-looking woman with red-blonde hair streaked with gray. The Thallon province Refuter quietly approached his bound and helpless Obi-Wan, placed a regretful hand on his head and gently smoothed his wet, bedraggled braid to hang once more in its proper place behind his right ear. She glared at the holoprojector in defiance and then pulled a flap of her outer cloak to cover the naked, shuddering shoulders of his Padawan. She then briefly caressed his cheek before finally taking up once more the obsidian dagger, her face set in an intense grimace of distaste and abhorrence, but she held its blade nonetheless firmly against his apprentice's bare throat.

Obi-Wan looked up then, no doubt feeling the keen, purposeful edge of the knife and knowing his time was short. His eyes searched around almost frantically before he found his Master. Those expressive eyes were wide and Qui-Gon feared it was more than rain that was rolling down his cheeks, but he did not struggle, did not plead. He was still shivering as he slowly raised his chin, but he locked eyes with his Master and mouthed, "I'm sorry." As the Thallon province's ruler regretfully gripped his head tighter, Obi-Wan swallowed once convulsively but did not try to move, nor did he remove his gaze from his Master's face.

Qui-Gon felt himself unconsciously drawing Force around him in an effort to do something, _anything_ to stop what he knew must follow. He felt the cry of anguish building inside, knowing he had caused this, knowing it was his fault, _his fault_ that his beautiful apprentice's life was to be cut so short, knowing it was from his shortcomings as a mediator _and_ a teacher. He was hopelessly unfit to be allowed to train a Padawan, but he could at least do all in his power to save this one, this one who had become so important to him...

He heard a muted gasp from one of the diplomats, and all took a wary step backwards from him, no doubt feeling the tension gathering around him in crackling, flaring waves of Force energy. The Force was strong on this world, strong in him, and he nearly glowed with that power combined with his own indomitable strength of will. He _could not_ allow his apprentice to be taken from him, he would not.

He felt again Mace's hand on his arm, but this time it gripped painfully and swung him around with all Mace's formidable strength. "_Control,_ Qui-Gon," he hissed in a menacing whisper. //Or do you care not that you tread dangerously on the Dark Side's path?//

It was more the shock of Mace mind-speaking him than his words that finally focussed Qui-Gon onto the dark man scowling furiously at him. //Mace?// he questioned. It had been a decade or more since they had been intimate enough to use mind-speech and it distracted him briefly from the shocked tableau around him.

//Perhaps if you have finished wallowing in self-recrimination and regrets, you'll see fit to provide me with the information necessary to find a solution to this problem...other than blasting this hall and everyone in it to oblivion.// Mace's thoughts were biting, but the emotions behind them contained only an odd mixture of compassion and urgency.

Qui-Gon stepped back in dismay. //Mace, I would never...//

//I don't think you yet realize the lengths you will go for this boy, Qui.// He continued aloud, pitched to carry to the Cerlonese hovering nervously around the conference table, "Help me find another way."

Qui-Gon glanced briefly around the chamber where the stricken white-haired Proponent was single-mindedly stroking the bright auburn hair of the Eirolasian Impasse, and then over to the hologram of Obi-Wan, where the dazed but thoughtful Refuter was carefully not making any further moves to complete her part in the Offer of the Impasse.

Qui-Gon locked eyes again with Mace and then, through their link, gave him the details of the negotiations to date, the principles of the Contention, and the information he possessed on its ramifications. It did not take long given that the issues, though grave, were straight-forward, and by Cerlonese tradition, the individuals involved in the actual discussions were few.

 

* * *

Mace stood thoughtfully for a moment, absorbing the information Qui-Gon had given him, then he nodded briefly and walked serenely to where the First Arbiter attentively awaited the outcome of their muted confrontation.

"First Arbiter," Mace said, drawing his cloak of Jedi authority and command firmly around himself. "I am Second Councillor of the Order of the Jedi Knights and respectfully submit _myself_ as Mediator to this Contention."

The Cerlonese diplomat bowed briefly, and replied formally, "I greet you, Second Councillor, and wish you stillness and calm." He cast a wary eye towards Qui-Gon, who stood silently staring at the hologram of his apprentice, staring like a man facing the loss of his sole source of light and heat and comfort. The First Arbiter continued tentatively, "I respect your Order and your intentions, Second Councillor, but I fear there would be little else you could accomplish that we have not already tried."

Mace gestured to the silently weeping Proponent who was now holding the Eirolasian Impasse tightly in his arms, and said merely, "It would seem that there are many here who would have little to lose by trying, First Arbiter."

The First Arbiter shook his head in frustration. "_I_ cannot make that decision! The Impasse has already been reached and it would require..."

"...a seconding by the parties involved in the dispute." A young man with long blonde hair stepped up to them, a petite girlchild who appeared no more than five or six clinging tightly to his hand. The young man continued, his mellow voice reverberating through the suddenly shockingly still chamber. "I hereby request the Second Councillor as Mediator to our Contention!"

Amidst the uproar that followed the young man's declaration, Mace recognized him from Qui-Gon's memories as a Sixth Level Mediator named Drah'Nor. Mace sent Qui-Gon a brief request for more information and received only a sense of puzzlement in reply. Obviously, Qui-Gon was unaware of Drah'Nor's level of involvement in the Contention, or even that he was involved at all. _Curious._

The child he recognized without need for additional prompting from Qui-Gon's hurried mental briefing. _She_ had once been the Thallon province Impasse.

Mace could understand now why Obi-Wan had Offered himself in her stead. The boy was heart and soul a caring and compassionate young man, and this tiny girlchild with the deep brown eyes and air of innocence nonetheless carried the weight of her people's future in her manner and bearing. It was a difficult combination for anyone to resist.

The First Arbiter's eyes burned with indignation at the severe breach of protocol and a situation rapidly accelerating out of his control. "_You_ do not speak for either party," he said as he pointing an accusing finger at his Sixth. "You are biased in this Contention and were ordered to stay from these proceedings altogether!"

Drah'Nor's voice exuded calm and reconciliation as he replied, "You are most correct, honored First, and I apologize for my intrusion." He bowed deeply to his superior and continued, "I ask merely to speak briefly to the Refuter and seek her council in this."

The First Arbiter stared hard into the eyes of his Sixth, opened his mouth to make a sharp reply and was startled into silence by a gentle tug on his tunic. He glanced down into a pair of beseeching brown eyes.

"Please, First Arbiter?" the young girlchild asked softly. She turned to stare at Obi-Wan, whose icy shivers had long since passed into the intermittent rolling shudders of incipient hypothermia. She trembled as if in physical communion with the young Jedi, and said simply, "He is in my place."

When the First Arbiter made no immediate reply and simply stared as if lost in the young girl's plea, Mace interjected calmly, "Surely it would cause no harm, First Arbiter, seeing as the protocol has already been interrupted..."

The First Arbiter exhaled explosively, then stepped back in ritual acquiescence. He bowed his head briefly to his Sixth and answered, "As long as you are brief, it will be permitted." He raised piercing dark eyes to his assistant and added, "But I will allow no further interruption of this ceremony...we both know there is far too much at stake."

Drah'Nor bowed his head in response and turned to the hologram of Obi-Wan and a patiently waiting Refuter. "Greetings, Mother," he began, and both he and the young girl bowed deeply.

"Greetings, my Children," the Refuter replied as she swept back a lock of dripping red-blond hair. "You of all people know you risk much in interrupting these proceedings, Eldest."

"'In ancient times past, those who attempted to change the outcome of the Impasse were routinely put to death, and so order was maintained,'" replied Drah'Nor, obviously quoting from a text.

The Refuter's face lit briefly as she smiled benignly at her son. "At least I know you have not wasted the opportunity for learning in your new post." A sudden gust of wind staggered her briefly and as Obi-Wan moaned in misery, she moved slightly in an attempt to shelter him from the worst of its effects. She looked down sadly at Obi-Wan and pulled his body closer to hers before continuing, "But you must be quick, Eldest. I have no wish to delay this longer than necessary. This one has already suffered much for our sake." At the soft sound of distress that came unbidden from the watching Qui-Gon, she inclined her head to him and continued, "As well as all those dear to him."

"I will be brief." Drah'Nor bowed again. "I ask formally of our ruler that she reopen the Contention with a new Mediator."

"I'm afraid little would be gained but a postponement of the inevitable, Eldest." The Refuter shook her head in sad denial. "The honorable Proponent and I have argued this problem in private, in the public forum, and lastly in formal Contention...and have made no progress whatsoever. The blood debt must be honored to avoid open warfare between our peoples, and short of Agreement, I fear the Impasse is all that will resolve it peacefully."

"Perhaps...it will be different now." Drah'Nor gestured to the white-haired Proponent, who knelt next to his Impasse, the ceremonial dagger clutched still in one hand. His tear-filled eyes lifted and latched with new resolve onto the discussion before him.

"I find..." The Proponent's voice quavered slightly, but it still held the strength and authority inherent in a ruler of his years and experience. He started again, "I find this more difficult than ever I could have imagined. And now I wonder..." The Proponent dropped the dagger and gripped his young, trembling Impasse to him in a determined hug. "...Now I find myself wondering if _anything_ is worth my daughter's life." He looked up into the thoughtful eyes of his people's enemy and continued, "I would ask for a reopening of the Contention, if it would also be the Refuter's wish."

The Refuter smiled widely, stroking Obi-Wan's rain-slicked hair with one hand. She threw the curved blade with all her strength, and it struck the marshy ground a mere meter in front of the holoprojector. As the Blade of the Impasse quivered at last to a standstill, the Refuter replied firmly, "It _is_ my wish!"

 

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn restlessly paced the small antechamber's floor, once again trying to vent uncertainty and frustration into motion. It seemed so much worse than the last time he paced these marble floors, for at least before he had had the illusion of control over the situation. Now he had none such, banished to the guest quarters, forced to wait on word of the single most important decision he had ever waited upon. Before, his frustration lay in the fact that he had options, but dared not take them. Now...now he was a mere _bystander_ while Obi-Wan's life still hung in the balance.

_You brought this upon yourself, Qui-Gon Jinn,_ he thought bitterly. _Behold the stoic Jedi Master, calm and in control in all situations._ Stoic, until someone should threaten the life of his Padawan...

He increased the rate of his nervous pacing. He should trust in Mace, he had, after all, called him here for his assistance...

His self-admonishment did him no good, considering that he found he could and did trust Mace with anything and everything, _except_ the life of his precious Obi-Wan.

As the interminable afternoon waned on, he found he could no longer contain his mounting anxieties. What if Mace failed? What if the two factions simply _were_ too far apart to come to Agreement? His heart rate quickened at the inevitable consequences while his brain conversely, obdurately refused to consider those same consequences.

One fact, however, seemed to crystallize sharp and true in his thoughts, a fact he had known intellectually ever since he had urged Mace to succeed him as Mediator:

As a non-participant and no longer involved in the Contention, he would not even be allowed in the chamber to witness Obi-Wan's death.

It was agony enough that he could not touch Obi-Wan's mind, could not be with him physically, could not hold him, comfort him, succor him...but to not even be allowed to see, to be seen, to be _with,_ even if only as a hologram...

_Would I even know the moment when Obi-Wan died?_

He moaned as his heart twisted into an searing, painful incandescent knot, and all of a sudden the strain was too much. The fading light scattered through the rainbow windows irritated him, the ceaseless drone from the constant wind irritated him, and this entire wretched planet irritated him, if possible, even further. In frustration and without thought, he whirled suddenly and punched an innocent and unsuspecting wall hard enough to put an indentation into the elaborately carved stone surface. As if coming out of some kind of a fugue, he stood and stared at the desecrated wall and his bleeding hand in dumbfounded amazement.

"You keep that kind of self-mutilation up, and you'll be on the Council for sure -- we thrive on that sort of thing."

"_Mace_!" Qui-Gon turned and gripped his friend's shoulders so hard that he winced. Qui-Gon continued in a rush, "Is it finished?...Have they come to Agreement?...Is he safe?...Oh, Force, he's not...? No, please tell me he's not...He can't be...Why didn't you mind-speak me?" He paused just long enough to gulp enough oxygen to continue and then shook Mace so hard that he fell backwards against the wall before he could regain his balance. "_Why don't you say something, damn it?!_"

Mace looked down pointedly at the blunt, overlarge fingers buried like grappling hooks into his arms. "I will, if you can bring yourself to let me live long enough," was the acerbic reply.

Qui-Gon abashedly released his friend and waited in agonized silence, fingers twitching nervously as if they longed to return to Mace's shoulders, or better yet, his throat. Mace had put on his bland, imperturbable Councillor's mask, and Qui-Gon knew from long experience that he would not be able to push his friend into anything so long as he was firmly entrenched in that role.

As the silence dragged on, Qui-Gon came to the sudden realization that the news could not be bad -- his oldest friend would not leave him in the dark about something he knew would cause Qui-Gon so much pain.

Mace suddenly smiled brightly, obviously reading the dawning comprehension on Qui-Gon's face, as well as sensing the bright swirl of burgeoning emotions leaking from the powerful Jedi Master. "Aha!" Mace said cheerfully, "I see you _can_ figure some things out without resorting to physical intimidation." He pulled Qui-Gon into an embrace, adding slyly, "And Yoda said you couldn't be trained..."

"It's over?" Qui-Gon asked brokenly, suddenly in dire need to hear it confirmed aloud.

"He's on his way back now," answered Mace. He released Qui-Gon and stepped back. "Actually, Agreement was reached some time ago, but..."

Qui-Gon had started away, unable to remain still with the sudden lifting of the weight of suspense and despair, but at Mace's words he spun around, his eyes narrowing once again in blossoming anger. "_Why_ didn't you..."

//Let you know sooner?// Mace finished for him. At Qui-Gon's terse nod, he continued, //I think you know me better than that, Qui.//

Mace's mind-voice sounded hurt, and Qui-Gon relented slightly. //Why?// he asked again, calmer this time.

//I was hoping you'd be able to tell me, Qui, considering you've been on this...pleasant planet longer than I.// Qui-Gon felt a mental shrug come from the Councillor. //I tried reaching you -- got nothing but some kind of...static, I guess you could call it.// Mace continued aloud, "It started to clear when I was finally able to take my leave of the Arbiter's chambers and neared this room." He shrugged. "A Force dampener of some kind?"

Qui-Gon shook his head wryly. "If so, it's awfully selective considering some of the...damage I was able to inflict on our quarters when..." He cut that thought off at Mace's knowing smile. "Well, I guess it would explain why I was never able to reach Obi-Wan through the training bond if it affects only mind-speech."

Mace pursed his lips thoughtfully and said, "Well, I don't sense that it is directed...or malicious. I think we can safely mark it down as just another charming quirk to this planet." Mace paused for a moment. //Besides, Qui, it may simply be the Force's way to spare you.// At Qui-Gon's sending of puzzled inquiry, Mace continued, //If the worst had happened...// He met Qui-Gon's gaze and held it. //I'm not quite sure you would have...let go...if you _had_ been in Obi-Wan's mind when he died.//

Qui-Gon found he did not need to consider that statement long before he replied. //Oh, I'm very sure, Mace, very sure indeed.//

 

* * *

It was very nearly nightfall, and Qui-Gon's disposition had not improved in the interval hours. They had returned to their suite of rooms to wait, yet again, but Qui-Gon appeared to be _thoroughly_ tired of waiting.

"Where _is_ he?" Qui-Gon asked, again, to no one in particular.

Mace deigned to answer him, again, with the same reply as the other ten previously. "Qui," he said with a sigh, "you _know_ the protocol, he was an Impasse, he survived, their people survived, and he has to be honored as such by the Thallonese. You know how firmly these people adhere to their traditions. They _will_ eventually return him to us." Mace sighed again and settled himself more comfortably into the chair he was lounging in. "Besides, I don't think you should be seeing Obi-Wan at all in your present frame of mind."

Mace calmly steepled his fingers and braced himself for the explosion.

After a brief stunned silence, he got it.

"_What in all the nine Sith hells are you talking about, Mace!?_"

Mace waved an expressive hand in a "Don't you think you've answered your own question?" gesture and got up to pour himself a drink. If he was going to be glowered at, he wasn't going to be glowered at thirsty.

Qui-Gon followed him into the small serving area, forced to wait while Mace calmly and carefully poured himself some of what the locals loosely called "fruit juice." Mace decided he was going to need it tonight. He finished the drink, waited a moment for the burning in his esophagus to abate enough to allow speech, then turned to find Qui-Gon waiting with a little less than his customary patience.

Mace decided to answer the unspoken question...and ignore the glower. "Qui-Gon," he started reasonably, "you need to look at yourself. I doubt you've slept more than a few hours in the last tenday, you've been through a great deal of emotional upheaval, and..." He paused significantly. "...you're going to undo _all_ my hard work if you go off and kill your apprentice yourself."

"The boy very nearly got himself killed disobeying me. He _must_ be disciplined in some manner."

Mace threw his hands up in disgust. "Disciplined, yes. Instructed further in the Tenants of Obedience, yes. Brought in front of the Council considering the depth of this fiasco, a resounding yes. Hells, you can even force him to attend one of Master Sumat's lectures on Wookiee genealogy if you're _really_ torqued at the boy. But, Qui-Gon..." Mace stalked back out into the common room, suddenly at a loss for words. He turned abruptly and pointed an accusing finger at Qui-Gon's chest. "I wouldn't do to a _Sith lord_ some of the things that have been coming across our link these last few hours!"

Qui-Gon had the grace to look at least moderately chastised, although his face never lost completely the tightness that alluded to his continued concern and displeasure with regard to his Padawan. Mace watched as Qui-Gon made a determined effort to slow the rate of his breathing and likewise his rampaging emotions. The big Jedi finally turned his back on his friend and walked the few steps to an oval, floor-to-ceiling window that faced out into the small, deserted courtyard beyond. As he stood and watched the dusk gather in burnished reflections of gold and vermilion on the arched and domed alabaster walls, he said simply, "I nearly lost him, Mace."

The distant echoes of the wailing West Wind were almost deafening in the stagnant silence that followed that one brief, inescapable statement. Qui-Gon bowed his head and continued almost inaudibly, "I'm...not sure I could go through that again."

Mace sighed. "Qui-Gon," he said reasonably, "Obi-Wan is a _good_ Padawan, and you have done an _excellent_ job in his training."

Qui-Gon snorted softly and turned his head slightly away from the darkening window. The red-gold light of the setting sun was rapidly deepening into a lurid crimson as it outlined the planes of Qui-Gon's face, and Mace stared in consternation as the harsh glow made the moisture running down Qui-Gon's cheeks appear more like rivulets of blood than the mere trails of tears.

Entranced, Mace nearly jumped when that quiet, velvet voice abruptly said, "I only wish it were so, my friend." Qui-Gon turned back to the window and clasped his hands behind his back, and Mace was faintly surprised that he didn't hear bones break with the tightness of that grip...as tight as the strain in that so-familiar voice. "I have taught him to speak his mind, to question, to not follow so blindly in my every footstep. How, then, do I teach him the consequences of disobeying an order which _must_ be obeyed?"

At a loss himself, Mace strode forward and simply laid a comforting hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak when he felt that shoulder stiffen suddenly. Following Qui-Gon's flint and steel gaze, he watched as a small group of figures approached through one of the crescent-shaped archways beyond. Through the gathering gloom, Mace recognized the austere figure of the Thallon Refuter, her two children...and Obi-Wan.

The group stopped halfway across the tiny courtyard as Obi-Wan turned to the short-statured woman next to him and bowed deeply. There was a flash of light reflecting the last of the sun's rays from the Thallon ruler's ring of office as she placed a hand on Obi-Wan's head in benediction. Mace could not hear her words through the remnants of the swirling wind outside, but he could see her smile as the hand moved from Obi-Wan's head to briefly caress his cheek in obvious thanks and farewell. Obi-Wan straightened from his bow and then staggered briefly as a tiny, dark-eyed bundle of capricious energy impulsively wrapped itself around his leg. Obi-Wan knelt and hugged the little girl back, then tilted her chin up and said something that made the child smile brightly in return before she threw her arms around him again.

Mace could feel every muscle in Qui-Gon's body tightening, but something held him here, waiting still, allowing Obi-Wan the chance to say his good-byes.

The Refuter bent down and unwrapped her youngest child from the Impasse's waist, straightened with the girlchild in her arms and walked away through the archway with a final nod of her red-blonde head.

The first of this planet's many moons -- small and bright, with an overly aggressive revolution around its primary -- had already began its climb over the low-slung buildings as the last of the sunlight finally faded from the graying walls.

Mace watched as Obi-Wan turned to face the remaining figure standing with him in the windswept courtyard, watched as Obi-Wan shook his head in sad negation at something that Drah'Nor asked him. The young man moved closer and spoke again as Obi-Wan uncharacteristically stared down at the grass-covered ground, a restless foot helping the wind and the ever-brightening moonlight stir the rain-soaked tendrils into a riot of miniature, chaotic prisms.

Qui-Gon pressed himself closer to the darkened window as if straining to hear the muted conversation outside, but the combination of a structure designed to withstand this planet's wind, as well as the contrary wind itself, held no consideration for the mere wishes of one agitated Jedi Master.

Mace returned his attention to the two figures outside and drew in a long, steadying breath as Drah'Nor carefully unfastened the decorative clip binding his long braid and stepped yet nearer to Obi-Wan. As the wind unwound his long, now unbound braid, he gently grasped Obi-Wan and slowly, as if not to frighten, leaned in closer to Obi-Wan's face. The Cerlonese wind, almost as if in a game now of its own choosing, gently wisped Drah'Nor's golden hair up around his face, so that in its capriciousness it actually blocked the moment when Drah'Nor's lips met Obi-Wan's.

Mace felt Qui-Gon straighten to his full, impressive height and was altogether too aware that the wind had not quite concealed enough. Qui-Gon's hand moved to spread a broad palm across the intervening window, and Mace watched as that palm slowly curled into a fist as the moonlit encounter ended with Obi-Wan pulling out of Drah'Nor's light embrace. Mace felt through their link as Qui-Gon's hard-won calm disintegrated into something suspiciously resembling a jealous rage, though he was sure the big Jedi would not recognize it as such.

Obi-Wan stepped back as Drah'Nor moved to rekindle their kiss, but he nevertheless took the offer of the tentatively presented braid clip, and with a last look behind him at the silently standing Drah'Nor, turned to make his way inside.

As Qui-Gon whirled abruptly to meet his wayward apprentice at the door, Mace thought furiously as the ghost of a plan firmed definitively in his mind. Reckless, yes, and definitely unorthodox, but...

Placing a staying hand on Qui-Gon's chest, he sent, //I've got an idea...and for the sake of any unborn children I may yet have, please don't kill me before you hear me out...//

 

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood outside the door to the guest quarters and tried without much success to calm his racing heart. He felt more than heard when Drah'Nor left to join his mother and sister and silently breathed a sigh of relief. He had enjoyed his time with the young Cerlonese diplomat, had shared many common interests and likes, but he found he could not take the further step that Drah'Nor wished in order to deepen their relationship.

He was exhausted, emotionally and physically wrung out, but he had an inkling deep inside that there was a great deal more to it than that. Not ready at this point to delve too deeply into his own motivations, he shunted those thoughts away and chose to concentrate on the more pressing problem at hand. Namely, the roiling morass of anger and frustration he felt exuding from his Master through the flimsy barrier of the doorway. It had been much easier to face up to his actions when he had been unable to feel Qui-Gon's emotions, and he wondered if he were going to be facing another extended period of study with the _Accumulated Histories of Known Galactic Cultures._ If he remembered correctly, he was up to Volume 38 of 540 from his last mis-step with his Master.

Obi-Wan pulled back his shoulder blades until he heard them crack, trying to relieve the tension in his body as he attempted the same with his emotions. Blast it all, though! He _had_ been right in his decision. Although he had been denied active involvement in the negotiations up to that point by Cerlonese tradition, he certainly could not stand idly by while Drah'Nor's baby sister had been pulled into the potentially deadly role of Impasse, and besides, things had worked out just fine in the end. He would take whatever punishment Qui-Gon saw fit, his Master would eventually calm down and things would settle back to where they had been.

_So why are you so afraid to go inside?_

He closed his eyes and tried once more to center himself. Oh, he knew the answer to that one easily enough...it beat at him with every pulse of the barely leashed emotions trickling across their newly revived bond.

_Because Qui-Gon was very, **very** angry._

He wasn't _really_ afraid of Qui-Gon...at least not physically. His Master had never struck him, had in fact rarely even raised his voice. But he found he _was_ afraid of losing Qui-Gon's faith in him, his trust, his...love.

There was no hope for it. Standing outside in this blessed wind was certainly getting him nowhere and in spite of all else, he desperately wanted the comfort and security of being held in his Master's strong arms. If only for a brief moment. He could take what followed, whatever it was.

And all unbidden, the needy, dependent part of himself he usually kept ruthlessly repressed added slyly, _And at least he will be focussed on you alone...for just a little while._

Obi-Wan chided himself for his mental fancies, firmed up his shields, attempted to put at least a minimal expression of contriteness on his face and keyed open the door.

He stopped just inside the portal, letting his eyes adjust to the unexpected darkness of the room, and was surprised to find Master Windu in their quarters with his Master. The burly Councillor stood facing away from Obi-Wan with a determined set to his broad shoulders. Qui-Gon's gaze was locked onto Master Windu, and as Obi-Wan watched, his Master abruptly threw back his head in a mannerism that Obi-Wan recognized as one of surprised disbelief combined with stubborn refusal.

Master Windu straightened his own spine in response, and Obi-Wan looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression as the two Masters glared at one other without either speaking.

Master Windu finally broke the acrid silence in the room. "Would the alternative be any easier to bear, Qui?"

Another long silence. "No, it would not," came his Master's eventual resigned reply. Qui-Gon then turned his full attention to Obi-Wan and in spite of himself, Obi-Wan flinched and bowed his head under that scalding, eviscerating stare. He mentally braced himself as he felt his Master approach. Qui-Gon stopped uncomfortably close but still remained eerily silent, and Obi-Wan trembled slightly, unable to get any kind of clear information from their disturbed training bond. He finally dared a glance upward through his lashes, managing a whispered, "Master...?"

Qui-Gon moved suddenly with the staggering speed that never ceased to astound Obi-Wan, and he was pulled firmly into an almost desperate embrace, the big Jedi's arms lifting him nearly off his feet in an apparent need to have his apprentice yet closer. Qui-Gon merely held him and murmured his name over and over, and Obi-Wan eventually relaxed in his Master's grip, feeling as always safe and treasured in his comforting presence.

Obi-Wan's pulse gradually calmed from its previous agitated level as his anxieties dissipated. He had obviously been worried about nothing -- his Master still cared for him. Maybe he _should_ be taking more to heart Qui-Gon's admonishments about living in the Moment. He would not have delayed so long in returning to his Master if he hadn't been so concerned about his response. And all for nothing, it appeared.

Qui-Gon eventually released him and set him back on his feet, keeping both his large hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan smiled up at him and opened his mouth to begin the prepared speech he had rehearsed a hundred times over during this interminable day. Those words remained unuttered, however, as he saw that his Master was looking not at him, but over his head at Master Windu. As he watched, he saw all the warmth and caring slowly drain from his Master's face like water down a culvert. Obi-Wan watched in growing abject horror as that most beloved face gradually assumed the impersonal, almost frightening mask he wore only during the most difficult of their missions, those missions in which he was forced to pass judgement on a decision in which there _was_ no correct answer.

Qui-Gon released him and looked down then, still without speaking. Eyes wide and not daring to intrude on Qui-Gon's silence, Obi-Wan sent a brief panicked query across their bond, not understanding what was happening but totally unnerved at the sense of impending distress his immediate future sense was warning him of. His query not only went unanswered, it was almost...ignored, and he felt Qui-Gon shutting down against him, not breaking the bond but merely shoring up his walls high enough that no mere Padawan could possibly break through them.

Shocked now into total immobility, Obi-Wan stumbled and nearly fell when his Master harshly grabbed his upper arm and started to pull him towards the center of the room. Off balance both physically and mentally, he pulled back futilely against the bruising grip, trying to slow their forward progress just long enough to get his wits about him. Qui-Gon spun furiously around and pulled him closer so that their bodies were almost touching, glaring down at him with burning eyes that dared Obi-Wan to disobey him in this. Unable to meet those blistering eyes without being able to touch his mind, Obi-Wan ducked his head in immediate submission, sensing somehow that any resistance on his part now would be disastrous.

Qui-Gon nodded shortly and dragged him to the center of the common room, turning him to face Master Windu who stood also at solemn attention with no word of comfort or advice to the distressed Padawan. Qui-Gon moved behind him then and perfunctorily removed the binding from his Knight tail, patting the longer portion of hair into place with a motion that could in no way be construed as comforting. Obi-Wan stood stock still and shivered, locking eyes with Master Windu in an effort to understand what was taking place here.

Only then did his Master speak, words which somehow failed to process properly in Obi-Wan's chaotically churning mind.

"It is now, as in times ancient past, the responsibility of the Master to instruct and guide the Learner."

"So it has been, and so it shall be," replied Master Windu formally.

Qui-Gon reached over Obi-Wan's shoulder and undid the Padawan braid from the clip which held it in place. "As it is the Master's task to teach, it is the responsibility of the Learner to obey his Master."

"So it has been, and so it shall be," repeated Master Windu.

Qui-Gon pulled the slim braid taut and began to unwind it from its fastenings, his big hands as deft and sure in this unbraiding as they had in countless sessions of assisting his Padawan in braiding it. As he worked, he continued, his words as colorless and comfortless as the searing wind outside their silent haven. "When such time comes as the Master can no longer rely on the obedience of the Learner, the bond must be examined."

"By the will of the Force and for the good of the Order," came the stern reply.

Qui-Gon finished his task and used Force to straighten the long lock of hair so that it lay straight and true and pure down Obi-Wan's heaving chest. "By precedent and by tradition, it is often necessary that the Council be called upon to determine Fault and undertake Correction."

"By the will of the Force and for the good of the Order," Master Windu replied and held out a steady hand. With this, Qui-Gon firmly pushed Obi-Wan the few steps remaining to reach Mace Windu and continued in that same deadly monotone, "I hereby relinquish the title of Master to this boy and give unto the Council...the Padawan Learner Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan didn't feel Master Windu's hands as he stumbled and was caught in a sure, firm grip. He didn't feel much of anything other than the cold, barren void in the center of his being. He was sure he would have felt pain if he had been able -- in fact, there was something frighteningly similar to pain out there, somewhere, just beyond the icy shutdown of a mind that could not even contemplate its own misery. But it was thawing...gradually, inexorably, as the oh-so-formal words finally congealed into conscious meaning.

Obi-Wan clenched his fist into Master Windu's tunic, pressed his face against a broad shoulder and tried with some success to stifle the incipient cry that was trying to tear itself out of his chest. He felt Master Windu wrap his arms tightly around him, the motion obviously intended to be comforting, but it only brought forth with new impact that the arms around him were not his Master's. His chest tightened like a vise in his despondency, but he was too empty to scream, too petrified inside to even cry.

After a long while, Obi-Wan forced himself away from Master Windu, turned in his grasp and raised beseeching eyes towards his Master, his former Master. He could only feel the barest whispering echoes through their training bond now.

His Master stood across the suddenly cavernous room, facing them, with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning almost casually against the far wall. He watched Obi-Wan as one would an exhibit in a museum, with some little interest in its uniqueness but of no immediate concern to his present state of affairs. This callousness, this seeming indifference finally managed to break through the final protective block of deadness inside him where mere words could not, and Obi-Wan lunged forward in an effort..in his need...to return to him.

Master Windu instantly stopped that forward motion with firm but gentle arms around his chest and waist. "Master!" Obi-Wan called out piteously. "Master, please..." Obi-Wan broke off his strangled words when Qui-Gon merely turned his back to look calmly out into the gathering darkness outside. In desperation, Obi-Wan started to struggle then, intending to throw himself on his knees before Qui-Gon and beg him to take him back. He _must_ take him back.

The big Councillor held him easily, without seeming to put forth any effort whatsoever, and simply talked soothingly to him until he eventually calmed, too drained and exhausted to fight anymore. The tears fell then in an endless, aching procession, clouding his vision even as his eyes lingered stubbornly on the one being whom he now knew meant more to him than any other. This man calmly stood with his back towards him now, his shields raised to their most adamantine, and as Obi-Wan stood and shivered and cried, he found that he finally knew the name of rejection. And it was Misery.

 

* * *

//Oh Force, Mace, I don't think I can go through with this!//

Mace winced at the pain in Qui-Gon's mental voice as he nonetheless gently pulled Obi-Wan backwards towards the large, comfortable chair behind them. He was himself tempted to let Obi-Wan return to his Master -- it was tearing him apart inside as well to feel the distress rolling off in suffocating waves from the sobbing Padawan in his arms. But these two were both stubborn, both alarmingly oblivious, and he was absolutely certain that this same situation would repeat itself as soon as things went back to "normal."

And frankly, he was getting way too old to be putting out fires. Of any kind.

Not to mention what would have happened had he _failed_ in getting the two parties to reach Agreement...

He shuddered. No, it had to be done...and it had to be done tonight, before he lost his nerve. He briefly sent Qui-Gon a mental sending of reassurance and patience and turned his attention to the distraught young man in his arms.

"Obi-Wan," he said softly as he stopped just shy of the chair. "All will be well. In this, I do promise." There was no reply from the young man. "Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan was still staring at Qui-Gon, still lost, still straining slightly forward. Mace gently turned Obi-Wan in his arms. Though the boy did not actively resist the turning, his head stayed swiveled around as long as he could in an effort to keep eye contact with Qui-Gon. Almost as if he were afraid the big Jedi would disappear if he lost sight of him.

Mace gripped Obi-Wan's chin in his hand, tilted his face around and up. "Obi-Wan," he said, not unkindly. "You will be spending some time with me until we can find out what went wrong here and how to undo the damage that has been done." No reply. "Do you understand me, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan looked out through eyes shaded with the white-hot haze of anguish and grief, and replied simply, "Yes, Master."

 

* * *

Master Windu nodded once in reply, and Obi-Wan gasped through his tears as an arm went suddenly under his thighs. He didn't even have time to protest as he was picked up and carried the few remaining steps to an oversized chair behind them. The shadows were much heavier here, almost as if they were ashamed of the well-worn chair abandoned like an unwanted relative in the corner of the oddly shaped chamber. Master Windu sat them both down and held Obi-Wan in his lap, firmly bringing his head to rest against his shoulder.

Obi-Wan struggled again to regain his mental footing...there were too many recent jolts to his system and he seemed unable to make coherent sense out of anything since he'd first walked through the door. There were too many vacillating emotions, too many events out of his control, and he wasn't sure who or what he should cling to in the ensuing storm. At least here, in this position, he could still see Qui-Gon, know that at least his Master had not left the room, not yet...left him.

He was distracted from his hungered gaze by a large hand that brushed an incipient tear from the top of his cheekbone and lingered there. "Obi-Wan," Master Windu said, his soft voice caressing Obi-Wan's left ear, "tell me, in your own words, the events since you landed on this planet." The lingering hand moved slowly down his cheek to grasp his chin and turned his face so that he was forced to break the visual link with his former Master. Master Windu's eyes were soft, his expression kind, as he added, "Leave nothing out, Padawan. I would ask you to speak to me of your motivations, as well."

Obi-Wan nodded as best he could with the big hand still firmly clasped to his chin. This he could understand, this he could do. It was merely a debriefing, as he and his Master had done many times...He swallowed heavily, trying to stifle another sob, struggling to release his negative emotions into the Force as he had been taught.

He began the briefing, his voice firming slightly as he continued to center on Master Windu. The big man watched him intently, focussed on his words, nodding at times and at others stopping him when he asked for clarification. He was never judgmental, never impatient, and he was obviously genuinely interested in what Obi-Wan had to say. This was normal, this was familiar, this was Master Windu.

But the big Jedi's hands...his hands seemed to have their own agenda, and Obi-Wan's breathing increased involuntarily under their ministrations. It was nothing overt, nothing distressing, but they seemed nonetheless to be everywhere. A brief caress across his neck and shoulder as they straightened his lock of unbound braid, a comforting clasp on his bare arm, an encouraging squeeze of his thigh when his narrative faltered.

By the time he stumbled to the end of his briefing, he was trembling, and not entirely from emotion. His skin seemed over- sensitized, energized by the brief touches. He looked up at Master Windu then, confusion glazing his eyes now rather than tears. Master Windu smiled encouraging and took his right hand in both of his. He carded the fingers of his right hand through Obi-Wan's, keeping them from flexing, as he soothingly stroked Obi-Wan's palm with two fingers of his left. "Obi-Wan," he said, almost a whisper now. "Do you know why you offered yourself as Impasse?"

Those blunt fingers were moving in a gentle circular motion now and Obi-Wan shivered at the teasing pressure. "I...I told you, Master..." So slow, those fingers. His whole universe seemed to be narrowing down to the motion of those two digits as they traveled upward slightly to stroke the soft, sensitive skin of his wrist. He was finding it difficult now to concentrate on words, his body seeming to wholeheartedly give into the idea of forgetfulness, oblivion, for at least a little while.

"Obi-Wan?..." Master Windu had moved his mouth until it was almost touching Obi-Wan's ear and he shivered anew as the faintly spoken words tickled the fine, sensitive hairs inside.

"I...felt it...I sought to save the life of Drah'Nor's sister..." There was just the barest sensation of full, soft lips on the tender skin behind his ear...and then it was gone.

"Are you sure, Padawan?" The fingers were moving slowly up his arm now, baring the skin as the loose sleeves of his ceremonial tunic were pushed upwards in their wake. The fingers found an especially sensitive spot in the soft fold of his elbow and Obi-Wan gasped, feeling the first warning tingle in his groin as the fingers moved still slower in their maddening circles.

"S...sure of what, Master?" Obi-Wan watched entranced as those fingers left his arm, crossing through the alternating bands of shadow and deeper shadow dispensed by the serenely obscured lighting in this darkened corner. Those two deliberate digits then traveled across to his chest, still barely touching, this time slowly encircling one nipple in a large, even circle.

The deep, beguiling voice was back in his ear, the lips actually touching Obi-Wan's ear as he said, "Why, sure of your motivation, young one." The fingers continued their journey, never actually touching his nipple, but the soft cloth of his tunic disturbed in their wake kept up a consistent, teasing contact with the small hard nub. Embarrassed, confused and now helplessly aroused, Obi-Wan shyly tried to free himself from Master Windu's grasp, unsure of why the big man was doing this to him.

He was easily restrained, too easily, and he did not know if it were because the big Master used Force or if he himself did not truly wish to be released. There was a soft chuckle in his ear. "You learn fast, little one. A Jedi must _always_ be aware of his true motivations." With that, the slowly moving fingers began to close in on their target, moving in gradually decreasing concentric circles until with uncanny and frustrating accuracy, they circled and danced and teased a mere millimeter from their goal. Obi-Wan gasped in anticipation, arching his back slightly in an attempt to hurry the imminent contact. There was another amused chuckle in his ear, soft lips nuzzled it fondly and thoroughly, and then the fingers retreated back to their previous safe distance.

Obi-Wan gasped aloud in frustration, actually squirming in Master Windu's lap in his indignation. While not exactly a virgin, Obi-Wan's few encounters had been for the most part either hurried or clumsy, and he had never, never been subjected to such an intense, practiced act of seduction before. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to be the object of this one now. He was sure of very little anymore with his world continually being turned upside down. He desperately needed time to regain his fractured equilibrium, but the events of this evening had left him as yet no such opportunity.

As Master Windu benignly restrained him yet again, Obi-Wan chanced to look up...and met the eyes of Qui-Gon Jinn, or at least the man who wore his visage. There was little of his gentle, compassionate Master in that face...in those that eyes that burned him even across the expanse of empty room. There was nothing of indifference now either, nothing of casual disinterest...only an enduring hunger that froze Obi-Wan in his place. He and Master Windu were deep in shadow, he was fully clothed, yet somehow Obi-Wan had never felt more naked and helpless in his life as he did in that one soul-consuming, timeless moment.

As Obi-Wan sat frozen in the grip of Qui-Gon's gaze, the second of Cerlon's moons rose, bright and sprightly Erebus, and its red-gold luminescence passed obliquely down through a discrete skylight to glide like a dancer across Obi-Wan's shoulder and down to his chest. Qui-Gon's burning eyes dropped from Obi-Wan's face to follow that glimmering light, and then Obi-Wan felt again the gentle hands of Master Windu, those active, nimble hands, and this time they were deftly opening the fastenings of his lightweight tunic. The dark hands drifted down, so very slowly, following the moonlight's path, exposing an expanse of Obi-Wan's smoothly muscled chest to the light from that tiny moon as if in a display for it alone. Shadow to light and back to shadow as the moon left behind the tiny skylight as well as the tableau of immobilized Padawan and the white-tan flesh of Obi-Wan's now fully exposed chest. The sheltering shadows closed in again and Obi-Wan let out the strangled breath he had unknowingly been holding. It sounded more like a gasp...and it was mirrored by a deep, anguished, centering breath from the big man across the room.

"Do you begin to understand, young Padawan?" came the voice of Master Windu from the darkness. The words were followed by brief, moist flicks from an active tongue as it tasted and explored and treasured the exquisite softness of ear, neck and throat. "Tell me again why you offered yourself as Impasse."

But Obi-Wan found he could not speak, could not move, trapped as he was between the physical boundaries of Master Windu's grasp and the visual ones of his former Master's gaze. He was pushed slightly forward away from Master Windu's chest, and two callused thumbs gently and with agonizing slowness pulled the light cloth of his tunic down, lingering first on the junctures of shoulder and neck until the soft lips and teeth could meet them there. They mingled together in joyful celebration, licking and nipping and stroking those tender places until Obi-Wan moaned aloud in helpless rapport with their continued onslaught.

The thumbs left then to continue their self-imposed task of sliding the soft, restrictive fabric down Obi-Wan's arms, glorying in their journey, heedless this time of the lack of escorting light, merely intent on the fulfillment of a duty that was their utmost pleasure to fill. So tender they were, so delicate and light on the sensitive, sweat-dampened skin of upper arms, the trembling forearms and endearingly narrow wrists. The dark thumbs lingered again on the much smaller fingers, stroking patiently until those fingers released their death grip on the arms of the chair and allowed the thin, concealing fabric to be at last removed completely from his body.

Only then did Mace pull the now unresisting Obi-Wan back against his broad chest, deeper into the concealing darkness. Master Windu spread his broad palm across Obi-Wan's sternum and then began to trace the interlocking patterns of shadow and light that fell like a map across Obi-Wan's torso. Up to a prominent collarbone, tracing its outline with whispering touches and then ghosting down to his stomach, circling more slowly there with the fingertips sliding just barely beneath the waistband of his loose leggings, seeming to delight in the heaving motion of the trembling muscles. Obi-Wan thrust his hips in abject invitation, whimpering, but the fingers had already left to follow a particularly inviting path to a proudly erect nipple.

The fingers halted again in their forward progress, not asking for permission but demanding compliance, and Obi-Wan gasped a whispered, "Please...oh, please..." Master Windu seemed to hesitate as he gauged the depths of Obi-Wan's submission, examining Obi-Wan's passion-dark eyes as they fastened like limpets onto the progress of those delicately stroking fingers. Just before those tortuous fingers could graze the areola of a rock-hard nub, a deeper shadow fell over them and the digits paused again in their procession. "Nooo..." protested Obi-Wan, and he threw his head back in despair, fighting back a scream of frustration and need. At Master Windu's continued stillness, Obi-Wan slowly opened his eyes to find that Qui-Gon had approached the chair and stood silent and focussed a few paces away, his face shrouded in the shadows, but his posture ramrod straight and his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

There was another heavy silence, which even the ever-present wind seemed loathe to break, and Obi-Wan found himself holding his own breath in counterpoint. If one could actually feel silence, it would feel like this, he decided...both stifling and electric, redolent yet threatening, like the thick summer air just before a cataclysmic thunderstorm.

He felt Master Windu tilt his head slightly, his fingers still frozen in place on Obi-Wan's chest. He could feel no tension in that hand, no sense of wariness coming from the big man holding him with such proprietary closeness. Obi-Wan was both perplexed and amazed, because even he could feel the waves of menace and possessiveness that radiated from the tall figure before them, the raw taste of violence barely curbed. With that came the knowledge that he didn't know Qui-Gon at all, that he had all along loved and admired the surface of a wondrous, calm sea and never seen the equal parts danger and splendor in the bottomless depths below.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to squirm under the continued light pressure of Master Windu's hand and Qui-Gon's daunting presence, his breathing labored and his cock still uncomprehendingly stiff and eager between his legs.

There was a sudden amused snort from Master Windu and he said, "You will do no such thing, Qui, and both you and I know it." Obi-Wan could feel the Master's gentle smile as he pressed his face against Obi-Wan's temple in an overt demonstration of that knowledge. "It would take you _years_ to break in someone new on the Council, and we both know you have better things to do."

"I will honor the Rite of Relinquishment, Mace." Obi-Wan actually started at the sound of his Master's voice, so deep and ponderous and rusty as if it had not been used in decades. "I shall not touch him. But see to it that you do not go _too_ far, my friend."

Another soft chuckle, and the fingers once again began their slow, purposeful dance around Obi-Wan's nipple. "The quest for true purpose sometimes lies down a path not readily...or comfortably...seen."

Lower yet, that somber voice. "And sometimes those paths are best not tread at all, for the risks one dares when walking them."

Master Windu once again fondly nuzzled Obi-Wan's ear and said, "Ah, but the rewards, Qui..." and he suddenly flicked Obi-Wan's neglected nipple with one fingertip. Obi-Wan screamed as he felt the pleasurable jolt clear down to his groin, arching violently in response, and Master Windu took that opportunity to bring them both up out of the chair. Obi-Wan gasped and swayed, and Master Windu caught him in amused forbearance when he would have fallen.

Smoothing Obi-Wan's sweat-slickened hair, Master Windu held him tightly until he regained some use of his trembling legs and then walked them calmly and surely past Qui-Gon to the center of the living quarters. Stopping between two graceful, decorative pillars a little more than arm's length apart, he pulled Obi-Wan between them and then stretched first one arm and then the other up over his head, wrapping Obi-Wan's fingers around the pillars and patting them gently in an obvious command to remain there.

Master Windu turned from him, walking out of Obi-Wan's line of sight, and shortly thereafter the already dimmed lighting faded to blackness. No, not total darkness, for as his eyes adjusted Obi-Wan found he could still see well enough. Too well, for his current frame of mind. The multitude of elegant skylights that Obi-Wan had previously thought were mere decoration revealed their true purpose with this retreat of the harsh artificial light. With graceful contours and impossible angles, they ingeniously took advantage of the bright and numerous moons this lonely world was graced with and focussed them into a quite respectable lighting source. On a cloudless night, he was certain the effect would be quite different, but this night, this night of fate and circumstance, the passing expanses of windswept clouds wove the remaining moonslight into a tapestry of multicolored, softly tinted light and migrating shadows, changing constantly with the motion of moons and clouds.

The gently dancing light disoriented him further, and as Obi-Wan stood between the two pillars, he clenched his hands tighter in a simple effort to remain upright. He was tired, Force, but he was tired, the physical and emotional demands of this day overwhelming. He closed his eyes and tried once more to center, to make sense of the nonsensical, but the constant aching pressure in his groin distracted him even more than his mental turmoil. He fought back a sudden overpowering wave of frustration and despair.

He felt the motion without needing to reopen his eyes, so strained to the utmost were all his senses...a warm presence, soothing his distress, a light caress down his bare flank, somehow both calming and arousing. "I promised you, young one. All _will_ be well." The taller form of Master Windu was pressed lightly behind him, the hands now roaming sweetly up and down chest and belly, the textured feel of Force usage pinning his wrist when he all unknowingly attempted movement of one hand off a pillar in reaction to the soft nuzzling of the tender nape of his neck.

Confusion and panic reared in him then, pooling into helplessness in his stomach, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes, instinctively searching out the presence he ultimately turned to in times of need and distress. He gasped and unconsciously pressed back closer into Master Windu when he discovered that his former Master was standing directly in front of him...and Obi-Wan had never even sensed his approach. Qui-Gon had one overlarge hand wrapped in a stranglehold on the pillar above his left hand, hard enough that the brief passing of a band of white-gold light illuminated the tendons stretched to bulging cords in the powerfully muscled arm. His face was in shadow, but as his Master leaned ever so slightly forward, he heard the labored breathing, felt the soft puffs of his exhalations that cooled the dampened spots left by Master Windu's laving tongue.

Obi-Wan shivered and moaned, hopelessly adrift, not sure where this was leading, not sure where he wanted it to lead. He stared fixedly at a spot on Qui-Gon's chest, unable or unwilling to meet his eyes, shadowed though they might be. The tender lips and darting tongue of Master Windu never slowed in their seeming quest for conquest of every patch of his exposed skin, and when the fluttering hands moved purposely to the waistband of his leggings, Obi-Wan's nerve finally broke and he darted around and away from the impossible situation and overpowering sensations.

He was stopped this time not by Force application, but by the sudden presence of Qui-Gon's body superimposed again in front of his, large and looming and commanding. Qui-Gon still would not speak, made no move to restrain him physically, but even with no verbal cues or the benefit of their mental link, Obi-Wan submitted instinctively to the silent directive. He stepped backwards once again between the pillars, shivering, staring numbly at his feet and hugging his arms around his naked chest protectively.

A narrow opening directly above him chose that moment to spill onto Obi-Wan the indigo blue light of the largest and slowest of Cerlon's moons. The cone of light was narrow, focussed, discrete, and Obi-Wan found it made a comforting limit to the strangeness engulfing him. He cast his eyes only to the borders of that comforting blue radiance and chose not to dwell on the mad depths of the world outside of it. Obi-Wan stood, shaking, inconsolable, and he watched with something approaching dread as a darker band of midnight shadow crept slowly across his haven of light. The powerful arm corresponding to the shadow again gripped the pillar above him, and Obi-Wan shook his head desperately in negation of the shadow's implied command.

A smooth, chiding voice whispered in his ear, "You _must_ learn obedience, Padawan," and when Obi-Wan could only shake his head again in feeble denial, the gentle yet firm hands of Master Windu reached around his chest, grasped the tremulous hands and pulled them up once again to grasp the pillars beside him.

As soon as Master Windu's hands left his, Obi-Wan began to pull away again, not at all ready for what he knew must lie ahead. He was too slow, however, far too slow, the numbness of his thoughts seeming to have transferred to his limbs. Before he could move his hands from the pillar, almost before the command had passed from his brain to his muscles, Obi-Wan froze again as the shadow of his former Master coalesced into solid, undeniable presence. The big man stepped forward towards him and stopped so close that he could feel the rough weave of his Master's tunic against his naked chest. The blazing blue eyes that matched the hue from the hovering moonlight latched onto Obi-Wan's and held him there as if physically restrained. Obi-Wan could not see Qui-Gon's other hand move to grasp the opposite pillar, so close was the big Jedi's body to his, but he heard the shifting of fabric in the consuming silence, felt the trail of a sleeve as it brushed his trembling hand. His former Master still did not speak and Obi-Wan pleaded soundlessly with his eyes, hoping to see some softening of that forbidding gaze, some relaxation in the tight, intimidating features.

There was no such relenting, only the fleeting sense of clipped words brushing tenuously through the blocked training bond, _Keep them there,_ and then nothing except the hollow, echoing silence once more. Obi-Wan cried out aloud then, in loss, in fear, in desperation, in anger at himself for remaining so embarrassingly aroused through an ordeal not of his choosing.

Master Windu's petting hands returned, unpitying, inexorable, making small circles on the hollow of his low back, moving down to caress his buttocks through the shockingly thin material of his leggings. In the continued stultifying silence, he heard the whisper of fabric against the smooth skin of his buttocks, felt the gooseflesh arise with the firm yet teasing pressure, smelled the heavy musky scent of male arousal. Obi-Wan stared fixedly at the broad chest of his former Master, the imposing form standing so still, so silent, so heart-wrenchingly close. He did not know how long the gentle circles on his buttocks continued before he involuntarily pressed backward into them, but as soon as he did, the hands disappeared. He cried out again, twisting his head far around as possible without moving his hands.

The dark man had almost disappeared in the gloom outside Obi-Wan's moonlit column of luminous blue, but Obi-Wan could glimpse the flash of white as Master Windu chuckled fondly. "Patience is a gift that comes with experience, young one." The hands returned then as they skinned lightly down his thighs, pausing to tease the virgin flesh of his trembling inner thighs. Another chuckle as Obi-Wan thrust forward involuntarily. "There are merely some ways to gain that experience that are more enjoyable than others."

The hands moved down, down, one hand stopping to rest on the back of his left knee, the other undoing the fastenings of the light boots that Obi-Wan wore. Obi-Wan stubbornly resisted the light pressure instructing him to lift the foot, planting himself instead more firmly on the floor. There immediately followed a light stroke on the back of his knee, and as Obi-Wan instinctively flexed the knee to escape the maddening tickling sensation, Master Windu deftly removed the boot and sock and captured the bare foot in his hand. He slowly and deliberately wrapped an arm around the leg to immobilize it, then mercilessly tickled the sensitive sole until Obi-Wan was writhing helplessly against him. Caught between the extremes of hysterics and tears, Obi-Wan could only sob in relief when the embattled foot was released at last. Boneless, held up only by his death grip on the smooth marble of the pillars, he made no resistance to the removal of the other boot.

Master Windu petted him briefly on the calf and arose then, once again putting his arms around him from behind as he whispered, "Very good, little one." The tongue played again over the soft folds of ear and nape, the sharp teeth nipping and biting.

Obi-Wan threw his head back, in frustration or to allow better access, he was no longer certain. He stared up into the face of his former Master, and Obi-Wan watched entranced as Qui-Gon's hand made a slow passage towards Obi-Wan's face, out of the darkness and into the band of ghostly blue light that still bathed Obi-Wan's form. The hand stopped just millimeters shy of Obi-Wan's sweat-drenched skin and Obi-Wan strained forward in an effort to meet it, knowing even as he felt the moist flicks of Master Windu's tongue and his knowledgeable, inflaming caresses, that it was _this_ hand that he wanted so desperately to touch him, _those_ full lips and soft beard that he needed to feel upon him. The knowledge that he wanted this, _needed_ this came with such force that he again moaned aloud, the rush arrowing straight to his groin and numbing his brain with implications.

Qui-Gon's hand pulled back with obvious reluctance and Obi-Wan softly cried, "No, please," and would have followed the hand had not Master Windu's arm stopped his forward progress. "You are to stay with me, little Obi-Wan. You are not quite ready...yet." With that, Master Windu grasped the waistband of Obi-Wan's leggings and slowly, infinitesimally slowly, began to drift the soft fabric down his hips.

Obi-Wan whimpered at the teasing motion, gyrating his hips in a futile attempt to speed the process. He was adrift, and far too far gone to resist any longer. He looked up into Qui-Gon's face, whispering a husky, "Please..." to the immobile form standing so rigid and austere in front of him.

To Obi-Wan's complete and utter surprise, Qui-Gon spoke then, in the deepest, most lustrous voice that he had ever heard from his Master. Obi-Wan found himself focussing on that voice as he did from time to time when a mission began to go very wrong, latching on to the richness and the velvet that never seemed to waver even when severely stressed. This night, however, already tortuously aroused, Obi-Wan found he was responding at a new level to that voice, a depth that went beyond attentiveness, beyond respect, beyond affection into a realm that spoke to something deeper inside him than he had ever known. The teasing hands remained on his skin, the ever-changing play of light remained to his eyes, but it was that voice that he found himself centering on, that voice he responded to like no other stimulus, and _that_ voice which became quite suddenly his entire world...

 

* * *

"You _are_ beautiful, my little one. Do you know that? I wish I were the one to touch you so...I were the one to make you tremble and moan. I have been blind for so long, not to see what a sensual creature you are. Mace _is_ talented though, is he not?

"If you could see yourself, Obi-Wan, with your arms stretched above you, the way your skin glistens, the softness of blue on blue shadows as you writhe in the glow of this worshiping moon. There is a little rivulet of sweat that is traveling down your chest, blocked in its passage by your swollen nipple. What would you taste like there, I wonder? The pertness of nipple and the saltiness of sweat. It would take me some time to make that determination, I fear, some time to lick and taste and suck until I could be sure.

"There, there, my Obi-Wan, surely you have learned by now that your struggling will only make Mace go slower? I know, you are so hard, so needy, I can see the tip of your swollen length as it struggles to free itself from its restriction. You feel you _must_ move, let the exquisite softness of the constricting fabric stroke against you where Mace will not, give you the friction you are craving so badly...but Mace is right in your need to learn patience.

"See how he rewards you for your stillness? Another two centimeters and the head of your cock is free now. It is truly mesmerizing, you know, to watch Mace's thumbs as they pause to stroke the tender skin above your hip bones, worship the trembling muscles of your belly. He knows just the right pressure to sensitize the skin so that the softest breath of air would cause you to tremble. This I know from experience.

"Here, let me show you.

"Your moans are so arousing, Obi-Wan. I fear I could drown in them. As I kneel here, so close to you and smell your scent, I wonder, would it be such a dreadful thing to do more than just breathe gently on your straining belly? Would I be violating the Code, with your cock weeping so much, so piteously, to bend a touch nearer and merely taste you with my tongue?

"No, no, Obi-Wan, you must remain still, though you are tantalizingly beautiful with your back arched so, your head thrown back and the soft strands of your unbound braid caressing your chest. Do you realize how you offer yourself to me like this, with your hips pressed forward and your inflamed cock begging to be released? To be touched and licked?

"Do not glare at me, Mace. I promised you I would not interfere, and I shall not touch him. But it will do none of us any good if you kill the boy with your too patient...ministrations.

"There. Be easy, little one. You will hyperventilate if you are not careful. Breathe deep and hold, as I have taught you. Yes, very good...

"I think you can resume now, Mace. Yes, he is _very_ responsive. Almost too responsive. You had best finish removing his clothing, or he will find release himself with how he is writhing so.

"Yes, I agree. That would be a shame, and would be too soon.

"Much too soon.

"That's better. See, he has stopped struggling now that he has nothing left to rub against. However...I think it best that you Force-bind his hands now.

"Relax, relax, it is all right. Just listen to my voice, Obi-Wan. This will not hurt you, little one. We will not hurt you. You must relax...

"Let me get behind him, Mace. I do not want him to accidentally injure himself.

"Yes, good, Obi-Wan. See, the binding will help you. You can release some of your weight now into your arms, and it _has_ been a very long and busy day for you, hasn't it, little one? But I believe you are beginning to see that obedience has its own rewards.

"Now, I want you to move your feet further apart, Obi-Wan. Mace will not be able to touch you properly with your legs pressed so tightly together. Surely you can do this for me? Yes, I know it makes you feel vulnerable. I can see it with the way you duck your head so endearingly and hide those marvelous eyes behind quivering lashes. Just a little further, Obi-Wan. Yes. Now, you must keep them there, Obi-Wan, or Mace will have to bind them also.

"Oh, you are so exquisite, so shy. Poor little one, how you are trembling. It will be all right. Mace will make it better soon. How hard you are, jutting up straight and proud over your belly. Now that you are naked, Mace can reach you better, the hard muscles of your legs, the creamy softness of your inner thighs.

"Yes, you must linger there. A little higher. Slower, Mace, he is sensitive here.

"Just listen to the sounds you make, Obi-Wan, as Mace strokes your satiny skin, closer and closer to your tender, tight balls. He is moving so slowly now. Can you feel him, Obi-Wan? You cannot see him with your eyes so tightly shut, your head thrown back. Surely you can feel him, though. He is so close now, close enough to where he must be tickling the tiny, sensitive hairs on your sacs, just as my breath is stirring so softly against your nape.

"No, Obi-Wan. You may not move. See, he will merely stop touching you until you cease struggling. It's all right, little one. Do not cry. You merely have to calm yourself, and obey.

"I know, you are so hard, so ready, but Mace will not touch you, will he? Yet you are so close that you are sure just one touch, one lick, will allow you the release you require. Do you wish you could touch yourself now, Obi-Wan? Grasp your length in your callused hand or merely even run your cupped palm over your head? No, you would come far too soon, but someday...someday I would like to watch you do this, only tell you where you could place your fingers, how long and where you could stroke yourself.

"And you would have to yield to me.

"Someday, Obi-Wan.

"Mace has such sensual, knowing hands, doesn't he, young one? His hands are warm and tender as they caress your rounded buttocks, teasing at just the barest edges of your cleft, then dancing away again as you move into his touch. Such the little wanton you are, writhing and moaning. Surely you must know by now that he will not allow you to control his movements.

"He has such soft lips and an active, darting tongue also. You keep your eyes so tightly shut, Obi-Wan. I wish you could see, as well as feel, as they move across your belly in their own dance just as his hands continue to work your buttocks and thighs. The quick nips and random flicks of tongue are slowing now as they approach your weeping, straining shaft. His tongue is still working the tight muscles of your belly now, but in measured, slow, precise licks. You should see how he is laving your stomach, outlining your penis but not touching it, and how the indigo blue moonlight reflects off the moistened trail.

"Mace has paused now, lapping up the moisture you've leaked onto your stomach. So close he is to that satin tip, little one, so very close. Licking and tasting. Can you feel him?

"Please what, Obi-Wan? Do you want him to stop?

"No? Then, you...must...not...move.

"It will be difficult for you, I know of your inexperience in these matters, but you must obey me in this or Mace will not allow your release. You do want to come, don't you, little one?

"I thought so.

"Ahhh, that caused your eyes to fly open, did it? Mace has very fine control of the Force, much finer than mine. The Force allows movement without giving you the benefit of touch. He's not ready to touch you there, not yet. See how it reaches out to him, straight and true, and now he can reach all of it when he so desires...the crown, the root, the sensitive underside. It's practically calling him to taste it, isn't it, Obi-Wan?

"No, you may not close your eyes. Watch, little one. Watch as that lush mouth moves nearer. You can feel his breath now, can't you, Obi-Wan? Feel it caressing you. Watch his tongue as he moistens his lips and imagine how it would feel on your shaft. So firm and wet, darting and licking.

"No, Obi-Wan. You _must_ be still.

"Will you allow me to hold his hips, Mace? The boy can be active and determined when he wants to be. Thank you.

"There now, Obi-Wan. I will help you remain still, but you must watch him. He will not touch you until you open your eyes. Good.

"Where will he taste you first? Watch as he approaches the tip of your cock. Perhaps it will be there, watch his tongue, Obi-Wan. A quick dart in the slit, do you think? It's so very close now, you can probably feel its heat on your skin. No, do not try to strain forward. You must allow _him_ to touch you. Watch his tongue writhe, little one, as if he were testing the contours of the tip before he allows it to make contact with you.

"I know, I know, Obi-Wan. You are doing fine, my precious little one. Can you do it, child? Can you remain still when that tongue laves you?

"You would agree to anything right know, I believe. You are so sure that one touch is all you will need to find release. It will not be that easy, my sheltered one. He will not let you come, _I_ will not let you come, not for some time yet.

"Look down now, Obi-Wan. Watch him...lick you.

"It's all right, little one. You may scream. I told you Mace would not let you come, but it still feels wondrous though, doesn't it? Watch, watch as he licks and strokes your shaft. So fleeting, that tongue. You writhe and twist and squirm as you attempt to make harder contact with that lashing tongue, but he is too quick, moving from a brief taste of the crown to a long, light stroke along the pulsing vein of the underside of your cock. His head bobs and weaves, and you must accept what little contact he gives you. You shamelessly plead for him to take you in his mouth.

"And I...I am shameless, too. For as I hold your hips, I find myself pressing up against your twisting torso, letting your helpless contortions caress my aching groin. Force, you are so beautiful...you look so small and vulnerable, bound and naked while Mace and I remain fully clothed..."

 

* * *

Qui-Gon could tell the exact moment when Obi-Wan came back once more to all of his senses. Obi-Wan's head swiveled around and his eyes lost some of their glazed look as he searched him out. It was if the single additional point of contact of Qui-Gon's groin to Obi-Wan's low spine forced him to center back fully into his body. The look of need in those smoky eyes encouraged him to continue his narrative though. He had always known how the sound of his voice could soothe and calm, and Qui-Gon found he enjoyed the way it could now quite obviously arouse.

"He is fingering your balls now, stroking and rolling them in his hand. So tight and close to your body, they are, but Mace will not allow them to release their fluid. Not yet. Not yet."

Obi-Wan squirmed as Mace's tongue continued its maddening darting motions, and when a questing finger gently caressed the soft skin of his perineum, he screamed in shocked response.

Qui-Gon shuddered. "Do you have any idea how you inflame me with the sounds you make, Obi-Wan? All I can do is pull you tighter against me, reveling in your excitement, for it only increases mine tenfold. I promised I would not interfere, but I cannot be this close to you, hear your soft cries, smell your helpless arousal and not touch you. I simply cannot."

Qui-Gon reached around him then to caress Obi-Wan's neglected nipples, rolling and kneading them between his fingers. Obi-Wan threw his head back on Qui-Gon's shoulder at this new onslaught and stared up helplessly at the light pouring down from the ceiling.

"You like that, don't you, little one?"

Qui-Gon left one hand to alternately tease Obi-Wan's hardened nipples and slid his other down his torso, rubbing a small sensual circle on his vulnerable belly. It quivered and trembled under Qui-Gon's touch, but he was relentless, never quickening the speed or changing the path of his stroking fingers.

"Your eyes are glazed as they look up into mine, with your pupils so wide in arousal that the iris has almost disappeared. You are almost incapable of speech now, your moans and whimpers nearly continuous, but your lips form briefly the word, 'please,' and I am tempted to give in to the silent plea and make Mace finish you."

Obi-Wan writhed again as Mace briefly enveloped just the barest tip of his shaft in his mouth. Qui-Gon threw his own head back at the intense feeling, lost, his resolve firming along with his own cock as Obi-Wan's naked buttocks caressed him through cloth.

Mace paused in his ministrations and looked up at Qui-Gon in fond amusement, but his teasing fingers never ceased in their deft strokings of the tender skin of Obi-Wan's thighs and balls. He made deliberate eye contact with Qui-Gon and then slowly, incessantly lapped the tip of Obi-Wan's cock, over and over, and then chuckled as Obi-Wan's resultant writhing wrenched a moan from Qui-Gon as well.

Mace smiled again at Qui-Gon and then moved down, abandoning Obi-Wan's now glistening cock, and began instead to tongue and suck at his testicles. Qui-Gon kept one hand rolling Obi-Wan's pebbled nipples and moved the other down to run just the tip of one finger up and down his penis, with the lightest of pressure, pausing to swirl the leaking fluid around the tip. This sent Obi-Wan nearly into spasms as he twisted into this new sensation, and Qui-Gon almost lifted him from his feet in an effort to press him closer against his throbbing groin.

Mace moved slowly underneath Obi-Wan's spread legs, nuzzling and licking first the underside of his balls and then gradually the softer skin behind. He pushed Qui-Gon away when he found him blocking his progress, and Qui-Gon reluctantly parted from him, stepping back to watch Mace work. Obi-Wan moaned in denial at the loss of Qui-Gon's hands, but then he screamed and threw his head back as Mace's searching tongue found his hidden center.

Qui-Gon moved around to better see Obi-Wan's expression. "A virgin to male sex I know you to be, Obi-Wan, how, do not ever ask me, but it is a wonder to watch you as you attempt to process the new sensations of tonguing and licking of that most sensitive place." The rapture on Obi-Wan's face drew Qui-Gon nearer, and he bent down to lick and suck at the juncture of neck and shoulder. He kissed Obi-Wan's forehead, his nose, tilted his chin up, but Obi-Wan was oblivious, eyes wide and breathing rapidly, totally focussed on the moist tongue that was mercilessly rimming him.

Obi-Wan suddenly gasped and his hips moved forward involuntarily as Mace stroked his tongue in and out of his anus. Obi-Wan found Qui-Gon's body finally close enough and pressed his groin against Qui-Gon's, at last finding the friction he had been so desperately craving. Qui-Gon gasped aloud but regained enough control to pull away from his apprentice before it was too late, ignoring Obi-Wan's cry of abject frustration.

Mace stood up and moved back around Obi-Wan then, running one hand along his hip as if to calm a fractious horse. He knelt down in front of Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon once again resumed his position behind the beautiful young man outlined with moonlight and darkness.

Obi-Wan was struggling almost mindlessly now, and this time when Mace lowered his head to him, he took Obi-Wan in his mouth without teasing him further. Obi-Wan gasped and froze as if not believing what his own senses were telling him, then he lunged forward desperately in a panic that Mace would change his mind and leave him bereft again. Mace still would not allow the frantic young man to set the pace, however, and he stilled his pistoning hips to prevent their motion.

Mace tongued Obi-Wan, sucking hard and then nipping gently up his length, driving the young man nearly incoherent with need. Qui-Gon was tempted to free himself, press himself into that beckoning cleft of buttocks and give into his own desires, but he could not, would not. From the time he had first grasped Mace's true intentions and relinquished his own anger, he had come to realize that Obi-Wan's future well-being and safety would rely on what happened next. He found it much easier to clear his thoughts and focus with that all-important goal in mind.

Mace released his hold on Obi-Wan's hips, swallowed him full length and began a rapid motion designed to bring him quickly to the edge. _It does not take long, does it, little one?_ thought Qui-Gon fondly as he caressed the young man's ear. Mace stopped as Obi-Wan teetered on the brink, and he withdrew, leaving only the tip of the boy's penis remaining in his mouth.

Qui-Gon leaned down in the brief moment when Obi-Wan was paralyzed in need and surprise and whispered, "_I forbid you to move, Padawan._"

 

* * *

Obi-Wan flung his head back in shock and distress, knowing he was being tested here, but oh how he ached. He was so close, so very close, all he would need was to thrust inside that wonderfully moist mouth once more. Seemingly sensing his indecision, Master Windu's agile tongue stroked gently across his head and then slowly, interminably slowly, he moved down his penis, keeping a firm even sucking motion as he mercilessly tongued Obi-Wan's shaft. Obi-Wan gasped and trembled as Master Windu reached the root and then just as slowly moved his mouth back up Obi-Wan's cock, increasing the suction until Obi-Wan knew he would surely go insane if he didn't move. Master Windu stopped again with only the tip in his mouth and waited, serenely swirling his tongue over and over on Obi-Wan's crown.

_Oh, Force! What could it hurt? One time, only one, and then I will obey my Master forever after that._

He drew a shaking breath in preparation of his thrust forward, but then, like a dam breaking, he experienced a sudden flood of images and perceptions that slammed through his wide open, almost non-existent shields and immobilized his body as his mind attempted futilely to process them. Helpless anger, fear and terror, an uncomprehending grief that paled any such similar emotions that Obi-Wan had ever felt in his own short life. Emotions indeed, but directed at him, _for_ him, _because_ of him, and they were unmistakably, irrepressibly Qui-Gon's. The last one tore like a knife through his brain, because it was the imminent certain knowledge that he was about to lose his Padawan...again, forever, and there was absolutely nothing more he could do to stop it.

_NO! Force, no!_ He had had no idea, no concept of what Qui-Gon had had to endure, and it shamed him to his very core. He straightened his back, his tears falling anew as he stood stock still with new resolve against the still agonizing, teasing motions of Master Windu's mouth. It was nothing when compared against the pain that Qui-Gon had had to bear because of him, but it was all he could do. All he could give in return.

There was a brief mental caress, a sense of approval and relief, and then the deep voice intoned in his ear, "You may come now, Padawan."

Almost before the words could register, Master Windu took his whole length suddenly in his mouth, sucking hard, and a blunt finger pressed inside him to brush firmly against his prostate. Obi-Wan came hard, screaming. He collapsed as the Force-bonds on his wrist were released and was caught by a madly grinning Master Windu, who sat down heavily and pulled Obi-Wan in his lap until the aftershocks were gone.

Master Windu continued to hold him until his trembling slowed and his tears dried and then asked, "Are you well, Padawan?" Master Windu raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Obi-Wan nodded his head shyly. "Then I will ask you again, why did you offer yourself as Impasse?"

Obi-Wan froze and struggled to search his own feelings, but they were still muddled, incoherent. He looked up to his Master instinctively for guidance, but Qui-Gon was standing once more in shadow, serene, still and once again...utterly, completely unobtainable.

Obi-Wan felt a firm hand pull his chin around and after Master Windu searched his eyes, he nodded once, as if in satisfaction. "I think you begin to understand, Padawan."

When Obi-Wan said nothing more but continued to look up at him with wide, beseeching eyes, Master Windu said, "You became the Impasse because of your Master. You wanted him to see you, fight for you, save you, _claim_ you." Obi-Wan ducked his head in shame and mortification, and Master Windu continued, "It is not as bad as that, young Padawan. Your original goal I believe was to protect the young child, but subconscious desires are also a powerful motivator. I would advise you in future to not allow them to overrule a Master's orders."

"Yes, Master Windu."

"Your actions nearly caused your own death and possibly the deaths of countless others." Stern voice, reproving.

"Yes, Master Windu."

Obi-Wan ducked his head again in acceptance of the rebuke and waited breathlessly on the judgement of the Council. The rarity of cases in which a Padawan had been removed from a Master's care meant that there was very little precedent for what might happen to him, but permanent reassignment of the Padawan was not uncommon...and for far less of an infraction than he had perpetrated. He closed his eyes tightly against another rush of unbidden tears and waited, hoping that his disobedience had not caused him to lose his Master forever.

"Padawan?"

The voice was still cold, still disapproving, and Obi-Wan shuddered, not looking up, afraid of what he would see in the Councillor's eyes. "Yes, Master Windu?"

"This floor is damnably cold and I'm not as young as I used to be. Besides, I believe your Master is waiting for you."

Obi-Wan's head bolted up, and he stared at Master Windu in incredulous disbelief. At seeing Master Windu's warm smile, Obi-Wan impulsively hugged him tightly and then released him to give the startled Councillor a fervent, heart-felt kiss full on the lips.

 

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn opened his arms wide to receive the incoming blaster bolt that was one Obi-Wan Kenobi and staggered backwards slightly as the young man's full weight hit him. He wrapped long arms around him just as Obi-Wan's legs wrapped around his waist, and he hugged his apprentice tightly to him.

Obi-Wan was crying again in relief and joy, and Qui-Gon merely stroked his back and whispered, "It is all right, Obi-Wan. Everything is fine." Allowing the boy to cry himself out, he merely held him and sent calming reassurances through the bond until the taut body he held began to relax. "You should sleep now, Padawan. It is late."

There was a muffled, "Don't want to," that came from the direction of the face pressed against his shoulder, and he smiled. He released one hand, chuckling at the way Obi-Wan fiercely tightened his grip to avoid being put down and called a robe to him through the Force. He flipped the robe over his naked apprentice's shoulder, draping it snugly around him.

"Is that better, Padawan?" Qui-Gon moved them both to the neglected chair in the shadowed corner where the evening had begun and sank down into it, rearranging a limp Padawan more comfortably on his chest.

"I'm not sleepy," Obi-Wan murmured indistinctly as he snuggled closer to the warmth of his Master's body.

Qui-Gon grasped the loose strands of straying hair and began to gently redo Obi-Wan's braid, the familiar motions lulling Obi-Wan further. As Qui-Gon tied off the end, Obi-Wan lifted his head and raised bleary eyes to meet Qui-Gon's. "Missed you, Master," he said and blinked rapidly, trying to clear them.

Qui-Gon gently pressed the red-gold head back to his shoulder and said softly, "I missed you too, Padawan. Now go to sleep." As Obi-Wan started to lift back up again in protest, Qui-Gon said simply, "I will be here when you wake, young one. Now, go...to...sleep." He was not above reinforcing that order with a gentle Force push. It had been a long day for him as well, and he had had his fill of headstrong Padawan.

He lifted his head at the quiet chuckle coming from across the room. //I thought you said the floor was cold, Mace?// he sent mentally, not willing to disturb the young man in his arms.

//It is, but I'm still in shock. The young man is quite a good kisser, you know.//

//No, _I don't know,_ and _you're_ still in shock? Were you trying to kill us both with that little performance?// Qui-Gon let some of the indignation creep into his mind-voice.

//If I remember correctly, you had at least some participation in that _performance,_ and besides...// Mace's mind-voice took on a higher pitched inflection as he added, //'A lesson learned under duress, better remembered will be.'//

Qui-Gon grunted softly. //I'm not quite sure Yoda had _that_ in mind when he said it,// he sent back dryly. A pause. //Oh, Force, at least I hope not,// he added with some trepidation.

Mace laughed and struggled to his feet. //Well, it worked, didn't it?//

//If you call the fact that I'm now hopelessly lusting after my own Padawan working, yes, then it did. Thank you very much.// He tightened his arms around the young man in question and then smoothed his tousled hair.

Mace sighed aloud and moved closer to the chair, crossing his arms. //At least you got the hopeless part right.//

//What are you talking about?//

Mace threw up his arms in disgust and walked through the still flickering bands of glimmering moonslight to theatrically slam his bald head against a nearby wall.

Qui-Gon winced sympathetically and sent, //Not too hard, Mace. You'll wake Obi-Wan.// Another pause and some slightly less painful-sounding thumping. //I take it I'm missing something here?// he asked dryly.

An especially loud thump from the direction of the abused wall.

//All right, all right. I don't want to have to explain to the Healers just _how_ you got your concussion, Mace. Would you come here...please?//

Mace's ironic mind-voice reached him first. //I told you before, the Healers have come to expect it from Council members. It's a rough job.// He paused thoughtfully as he stopped in front of the chair. //Come to think of it, there does seem to be an epidemic of head injuries after one of _your_ debriefings, Qui.//

//Very funny, Mace. Now would you mind telling me what you're trying to imply?//

Some of the teasing went out of Mace's mind-voice. //Qui, it's been obvious to just about everyone at the temple _except_ you that you've been lusting after your apprentice for quite some time now.//

Qui-Gon's eyes went wide as he pondered Mace's statement. //Mace,// he replied carefully. //We both know it is forbidden for a Master to be involved with his apprentice.// Qui-Gon found himself absently fondling Obi-Wan's braid in his preoccupation and released it as if it had just scalded his fingers.

Mace smiled comfortingly. //That doesn't stop it from happening.//

//I won't lose him, Mace. I _refuse_ to be the cause of losing him.//

The dark-skinned Jedi stared at him until Qui-Gon was forced to glance away, not sure he was ready to face this conversation, but knowing for certain that he was not ready to examine his emotions as far as Obi-Wan was concerned.

Mace did not allow that evasion. //Qui, there's a fine line between stoicism and stupidity, and you're treading dangerously close to it.//

Qui-Gon chose not to respond, merely staring at Mace with a determined expression.

Mace rubbed his weary eyes. //Then I'll say it for you. You're afraid that if you allow yourself to love him, he will be taken away from you?//

//Yes,// Qui-Gon ground out painfully, casting his eyes downward to soak in the sight of his Padawan.

Mace's mind-voice appropriated the comfortless, neutral tone that he used in his official capacity as a Councillor, losing all its customary texture of friendship and gentle humor. //So you've decided all by yourself that you've reached an impasse here, Qui-Gon Jinn?//

Qui-Gon's head snapped up and he furrowed his brows in anger, //Do not _ever_ use that word to me, Mace. Not even joking.//

Mace crossed his arms again and returned the glare, refusing to back down. //I was _not_ joking and _this is just as serious._ The boy loves you. What happens the next time you distance yourself from him, the next time you lose yourself so deeply in someone else's problem that he all unconsciously feels the need to garner your attention?//

//I...I didn't realize...//

//No, you didn't.//

Qui-Gon pulled a sleepily protesting Obi-Wan tighter to him and rested his chin on his head. //So, what do I do, Mace?//

//Easy. You love him.//

Qui-Gon eyes reflected equal parts hope and confusion, but he finally got out, //The Council...?//

Mace smiled down at him, the smile this time reaching his eyes as they glinted playfully. //I _do_ know someone on the Council, Qui. He could probably fix it for you.//

//But the Code...//

//The Code does not actually forbid it, Qui.// Mace smiled again. //It just...dissuades against it real hard. There _are_ exceptions made, and I feel yours is one of them. Relax, Qui. You need him, he needs you. I just wish I'd interfered sooner, but I really thought you two would be able to work it out on your own...I should have known better from past experience.//

Qui-Gon was still dazed and didn't reply with his usual teasing response in kind. //Thank you, Mace...for everything.// Qui-Gon opened the link wider and allowed the sincere gratitude to impart what mere words could not.

//Anytime. In fact...// Mace's mind-voice trailed off in contemplation.

//What, Mace?//

Mace allowed his grin to widen and raised a playful eyebrow. //Well, if you ever feel the need to give your Padawan another lesson in obedience...?//

He was met by a fierce look of possessiveness that practically seared the air with its intensity. //Forget it, Mace. He's mine now.//

Mace merely laughed out loud, bowed ironically, and left the Master and Apprentice to their fate.

 

**end**


End file.
